Tangled Up
by brightblue
Summary: In the wake of Judgment Day, Tony and Ziva finally admit their feelings for one another. But as oceans, miles, and intelligence organizations come between them, will they ever find their way back together again? AU from Judgment Day. Sequel to Tether.
1. Rome DC Barcelona

TITLE: Tangled Up  
AUTHOR: brightblue  
RATING: T  
CATEGORY: Tony/Ziva, Romance/Drama/Action, AU  
SPOILERS: AU from Judgment Day (general references to rest of series)  
DISCLAIMER: Yeah right! Not mine.  
SUMMARY: In the wake of Judgment Day, the team has been split up. Tony and Ziva finally admit their feelings for one another, but as oceans and miles come between them, will they ever find their way back together again? (AU from Judgment Day)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Looong note at the bottom. You should know that this fic falls in the same universe as my other JD-fic, "Tether." I would recommend that you read that to get the Tony and Ziva vibe that sets up this story. No worries, it's quite short! Also, the lyrics below are taken from Sarah McLachlan's song "Fear." That song is definitely the mood-setter for this story, if you're so inclined. Actually that whole album ("Fumbling Towards Ecstasy") is amazing and should be listened to while reading this if possible.

ENJOY!

**Tangled Up**

_But I fear  
I have nothing to give  
I have so much to lose  
Here in this lonely place  
Tangled up in our embrace  
There's nothing I'd like  
Better than to fall_

(1)  
Rome – D.C. – Barcelona

_Rome – One week ago_

Stealing into the dark café, Ziva makes her way to the back corner. A lone patron lifts his head from his espresso to acknowledge her. She averts her eyes, trying to look more coy than panicked. Sunlight streams in through the open windows, catching dust particles in the air. She steps around the rays of light. She tries to stay in the shadows.

Her heart is racing. She can feel her pulse in her ears.

The scuffle of feet on the cobblestone street kicks another burst of adrenaline into her veins. She ducks her head to hide her face under the rim of her baseball cap. She sighs in relief when a pack of children scurry down the alley.

A few short steps and she's at the phone. One last glance around ensures her that the only ones eavesdropping on her call are the old man drinking espresso and the teen-aged barista. It's worth the risk.

Her fingers shake as she tries to maneuver the rotary dial. She swears at herself under her breath, the abrupt Hebrew tones slicing the lazy silence of the café. _Calm down, Ziva!_ But this is not just any other mission; her frazzled nerves are a clear indication of that.

_Just make the call! Make the call!  
_  
One last deep breath and her fingers are steering the dial in a practiced ease. The United States switchboard picks up.

"Yes," she whispers in English. "I would like to make a collect call."

A few more exchanges with the operator and the line is ringing. When he finally picks up, relief floods her body.

"Ziva?! Thank God! What the hell is going on?"

Before she can answer, a man walks into the café, eyes searching. She hugs the wall. Locates her best escape.

"Ziva?"

A few quick glances around, a wave to the barista, and the man leaves. She exhales.

"Gibbs." The hysteria is evident in her voice. "I need your help."

* * *

_D.C. – 10 weeks ago_

She walks him out. His pace is slow, like a child being sent to school. Somewhere between the hallway and living room, their hands tangle up. She trips on his heels as she tries to slow her stride to match his. These are stolen touches and feel forbidden in the early morning light.

They come to an abrupt stop at the door. For a moment, neither speaks. Where to go from here? She tries to read his thoughts through the back of his head. Normally, she's good at this. But today she can hardly decipher the thoughts in her own mind, let alone deal with his uncertainty.

Finally, he turns to face her. His eyes blaze with emotion. "I'm not going."

"Tony…" she sighs, squeezing his hand tight. "We have no choice."

"We do, Ziva," he says with more confidence than she's heard from him in days. "I could resign."

"Don't be ridiculous." She's surprised by the catch in her voice, at how much she wants to encourage this bout of rebellion. Reason prevails, however, coupled with the wishful thinking she has been so adept at lately. "You cannot resign. Gibbs will have you back soon enough."

He snorts. "Right."

She furrows her eyebrows, feeling both impatient that he still blames himself for Jenny and angry that she can no longer be by his side to help him through those feelings. More empty reassurances spill from her mouth, "You are a good agent, Tony. Gibbs does not blame you. He will bring you back to NCIS as soon as he can."

She can only hope that she speaks the truth.

He studies her for a long moment. Eventually, he seems to find what he seeks and is momentarily appeased. She sighs in relief. He tugs her hand, pulling her closer to him. His next words are whispered, a smile dancing across his face, "And you. Gibbs will bring you back, too."

She knows he is picturing things the way they used to be-- how long ago a few days seem. If only they could go back to that time. Things will never be the same again. They are on the brink of change; she feels that with every fiber of her being. It scares her like nothing has before.

The lightness of his tone, the casual way he traces her knuckles, only increases her sense of foreboding. _Too much. This is too much for him right now. I should not have let this happen._ She hesitates. But she cannot lie to him. "I don't know, Tony."

He frowns, confused. "Ziva…"

"They will test me," she whispers, not bothering to elaborate. He will understand. She cannot look at him. This was all a horrible mistake. They should've never crossed the line. _Only hurt can come from this now._ She anticipated this outcome and yet did nothing to stop it.

"Then maybe you should resign," he snaps, dropping her hand.

"One does not just resign from Mossad," she snaps back. If only it were that easy. She knows, and he knows, their anger is not directed at one another. They are just lashing out at easy, safe targets. _Another reason we should not have opened up this can of fish._

A charged silence reigns over them. Tony is the first to break it, taking a deep breath and shoving his hands through his already mussed-up hair.

"Then you have to promise me you will stay safe until Gibbs can get you back," he pleads. She studies the rug under her feet. "Look at me, Ziva! Promise me!"

She closes her eyes. Breathes. "I cannot, Tony. You know that."

He grabs her face in his hands and forces her to look at him. The desperation in his eyes overwhelms her. "I can't lose you too, Ziva. Not you. Not when I just found you."

A ghost of a grin traces her lips at his words; she tries to swallow the tears that threaten to choke her. "But I have been here all along, Tony," she says.

He chuckles softly and runs his thumbs across her cheeks. "Yeah, you have. I've just been too stupid to see it."

She kisses his hand. "Not stupid. Just a slow learner."

That earns her a real laugh. "Yeah."

"You have to go," she reminds him but makes no move to push him out the door. All this forward momentum is making her dizzy. She wants nothing more than a moment to stop and think. She rests her forehead against his. _If only they had more time…_

"I'm not done with you yet, Officer David," he leers, only half joking. Humor has always been so easy for them. She ignores the pain etched on his features and finds the strength to smile at his words.

Then, he kisses her. _Please not for the last time_, she prays as she tries to memorize everything about this kiss—the softness of his lips, the gentle friction of his hands on her skin, the response she gets when she traces his lips with her tongue. When they break apart, they just stare at one another. This is still too new to not be surprising. Ziva says nothing rather than risk saying too much. They can't make promises; they can't say goodbye.

Tony places a final kiss on her forehead. She nudges him playfully toward the door. If she doesn't make him go now, she might fight to keep him here forever.

He turns to her one more time with a dark look she knows will haunt her for years to come. "Kick ass, Ziva," he urges then, more gently, he adds, "and come back to me."

"I want nothing more," she affirms, letting the truth shine from her eyes. With a final nod, he leaves. The sound of the closing door hits her like a kick to the gut.

Through the window, she watches him walk away. Then, she closes the curtains and begins to pack.

* * *

_Somewhere outside Barcelona – Present day_

The truck bounces over the dirt roads. Gibbs looks sideways at his former agent, waiting for a smart remark. Any remark.

"You're awfully quiet."

"Not a lot to say, Boss." Tony's voice is quiet, tight. His grip on the grab handle is evident from a few feet away.

"We're almost there, DiNozzo," Gibbs finds himself reassuring. Normally, he's comfortable with uncomfortable silences. But not this time. Not when he can feel the fear rolling in waves off the man next to him. Not when what he knows and cannot say could make that fear multiply exponentially.

"Drive faster," Tony commands, eyes searching the landscape.

Gibbs can't argue with that. He steps on the gas.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

So, what can I say? A few scenes from this fic implanted themselves in my brain and refused to let go. I was originally going to attempt a long case-file type story, but this grew so quickly in my mind that I had to write it. It's been brewing for about 3 weeks and only last night the last section underwent a radical change, which I think is for the better. I toyed around with the idea of structure and how to present the flashbacks—I think it should work as I have it, but if you are ever confused about the timeline, please let me know so I can tweak things!

Normally, I never post fic that is unfinished but as this fic is 2/3 of the way completed, I feel okay about it. Mostly because I have the plot all fleshed out and think the first draft should be completed soon. The first few parts might come out slowly as I re-write and edit, so please be patient. (All in all, this should be about 15-20 parts, depending on how I edit it.) This is my first action/adventure type plot, a real departure for me since I typically write shorter, emotionally driven pieces. (This is my way of saying please forgive me for errors related to action and adventure as I'm totally guessing!) So y'all get to be my guinea pigs! I appreciate feedback and try to send a quick thanks to whomever takes the time to write it—if I skip you, it's not personal, it's just that I forgot who I've already responded to! I love to discuss, so feel free to let me know what you think!

Also, I know there is a dearth of post-JD fic out there already. I hope this isn't too similar to other fics already out there; I haven't read too many, so I'm not sure. But, like I said, I've been writing this like a fiend and couldn't not share it with you all.

Get ready for a wild, TIVA ride!


	2. Beirut Pacific

_Author's Notes: Expect a lot of these—I'm a chatty person! ;-) Anyhoo, thanks to everyone who took the time to review. A note about the timeline: there are maybe one or two more chapters where I skip time periods several times, but I think it should be pretty apparent where we're at story-wise. Tony and Ziva may be on slightly different time periods depending on the chapter, but, generally, it's a consistent movement forward. Let me know if you get confused._

_I was going to hold off on posting more, but I just wrote a bunch of the final scenes yesterday and today and got excited about them, so here you go. I mostly wanted to post this because it's my first Tony-POV! (Hooray!) I was hesitant to write any Tony POV scenes, because this story is largely Ziva's, but couldn't avoid it. (I admit: I was chicken.) Turns out, Tony was so much fun to write that I added a bunch more scenes in just for him! (Who knew?) I think I'm in love! I even gave him an angsty, emotional scene towards the end of the fic that I wrote this morning. It was supposed to be angsty, at least. Then Tony took over and it became waaay more comical. So, you have that to look forward to!_

_Okay, shutting up now! You go read! Also—this chapter does contain direct references to my other fic, Tether, so while you needn't have read that to understand this, it might be helpful. ENJOY!_

_

* * *

  
_

(2)

Beirut – Pacific

_Beirut – 6 weeks ago  
_  
She spies her target exiting a nightclub.

The street is filled with young men and women, most of them drunk and dizzy from hours of partying. Ziva dodges an amorous young couple more concerned with removing each other's clothing than paying attention to their surroundings. She shoots them a dirty look.

The music that spills out from the clubs makes her already aching head throb. She's been tailing her target all night. She's watched him meet with suspect men in shadowy corners, toss back shots with pretty underage girls, and make discreet phone calls in alleys. This man is masterminding a fringe terrorist organization that has made direct threats against the country of Israel. Her mission is simple and clear: take him out.

When he turns back to catch his tail, Ziva quickly leans against a building, pretending she's trying not to vomit. It doesn't take much acting. It's been a long night and her stomach feels uneasy, empty. Her lips twinge upwards when she thinks of something Tony used to always say when he was cranky at the end of hectic day—"I've come a long way from lunch." Hearing his voice in her head makes her feel a little better. _Too long out of the game, David._ It is yet another sign that her time with NCIS has dulled some of her Mossad instincts. Sure there were cases at NCIS that kept her up for days at a time, but they always had time for a catnap and food. Terrorists do not pause while you stop for a sandwich; she's remembering this the hard way. _Next time, pack a protein bar, Ziva! Hunger and fatigue are no excuse to lose your concentration._ She has a mission to complete and she will not fail.

It's just that she hasn't had time to stop and breathe, not since she returned to Israel.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees her target duck down yet another dark corridor. Moving quickly and silently, she tracks him. No one pays her any undue attention. A few more strides and she has him cornered.

Her foot catches on a stray food wrapper and alerts her target to her presence. The man looks up, alarmed, from where he's taking a piss near a dumpster. Ziva resists the urge to roll her eyes. _Stupid men._ She raises her weapon at him. Fear explodes on the target's features. He starts chattering at her in Arabic.

"You have betrayed your country," she responds coldly in Hebrew. Without hesitation, she takes the shot. The man falls to the ground, dead, before he can respond.

Ziva moves quickly to the body. She retrieves his identification, jewelry, and anything on him that looks remotely expensive. It will look like just another random mugging. Or close enough to one, at least. As she searches the man's coat pockets, she finds a lone photograph of a little girl. Her eyes catch on the image. Her heart seizes. He had a child. _So why was he willing to risk it all, to betray his country? What drives a man to do that?_

Her mind swirls with unasked, and unanswered, questions.

A quick whistle startles her back to reality. She shoves the photo and the man's other belongings into the small bag she carries. A few last glances around assure her that the scene is as good as it can get and she jogs back to the busy street.

"Officer?" A young Mossad agent, Jonathan, approaches her at the corner. He looks like any other club goer.

"Target is down," she confirms, shoving the small bag at him. Jonathan smiles and stuffs the bag in his jacket.

"The weapon?" He frowns when he realizes the bag is lighter than it should be.

"I dispose of my own," Ziva responds. She knows from experience how many mistakes can be made, how easily tiny clues can blow open a whole case. She knows that Abby could tell her a dozen things she's already done to incriminate herself. But that is not how Mossad operates. If she executes her mission with precision, she will suffer no consequences. No one will investigate the seemingly random death of a terrorist and traitor with any close scrutiny. It is an unsettling truth.

The agent just shrugs at her, then glances around the streets. "Some of the guys and I are going out to celebrate the mission…"

Ziva narrows her eyes, "Mossad should not be anywhere near the scene now."

"We're going across town," he is quick to point out. Ziva can practically see the adrenaline coursing through his system—his eyes are bright, his body is humming with movement. "Moshe knows this guy—

"I do not wish to celebrate," Ziva cuts him off. Her body is screaming at her right now. She wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and fall into bed. It's been a long couple of days. "Make sure you get the bag to base first."

"Yes, Officer David," the rookie (_probie_, the Tony in her head taunts) affirms, looking sheepish. Ziva says nothing else as she turns to leave. She doesn't blame the young man for wanting to celebrate. She remembers those days, those first few missions and that addicting surge of adrenaline. She would worry about her team members slipping up, letting their guards down under the influence of alcohol. But they have been trained well; they are young, but not stupid. They follow their orders.

Ziva moves quickly through the empty streets, back to her safehouse. Along the way she disassembles her weapon and discards various pieces in sewers, dumpsters, and other locations where they are not likely to be found.

When she finally reaches her destination, Ziva is spent. Stepping into a hot shower, she tries to wash away the grime of the day. She tries not to think about the mission she carried out, about the man with the daughter. She tries even harder to not think about her friends thousands of miles away, of what they would think of her if they knew what she was doing. With so many forbidden topics, her mind cannot find rest. It's no matter, though, because as soon as her head hits the pillow, exhaustion gets the better of her and she falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean – 8 weeks ago_

The walls are closing in on him.

He lies on his bunk, staring up at the cold, grey ceiling. He tries to keep perfectly still and feel the nearly imperceptible movement of the giant boat in the calm sea. Nothing. He might as well be in a coffin six feet under instead of adrift on a stupid ship.

But still…regardless…the fucking grey walls are moving closer.

Okay, it might be the tequila speaking—the magically delicious contraband tequila clutched in his arms—but he swears the walls are closing in on him.

It's like that scene in _Star Wars_. The trash compactor scene. He loves that scene, but the alcohol is making it a little bit difficult to recall.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to force the encroaching walls back. It doesn't work.

That doesn't work, but his brain is having no problems conjuring up images he would rather remain buried:

He sees the endless amount of blood spilled from Kate and Jenny. He sees their faces in black and white. Two women. Two friends. Two dead on his watch and the blood runs vivid scarlet through this mind. It is sticky and warm on his hands, but shocks his heart like a dive into icy waters.

The tequila helps that, though. A swig off the bottle burns a trail through his body, chasing away the paralyzing cold. A pleasant haze occupies his mind. He no longer feels the seizing pain of _oh-God-I'm-too-late_ but instead observes the crime scenes from an objective point of view.

Jenny's death scene becomes especially interesting. He gets what Ziva meant now. He can see the cold detachment in the Director's eyes in the days leading up to the ambush. _A suicide mission, huh, Ziva?  
_  
Talking to Ziva in his head makes him laugh out loud. The sound bounces off the metal walls; when it returns to his ears he finds it oddly bitter.

Of course thoughts of NCIS females and the hazards of calm acceptance remind him of his favorite super assassin.

He remembers the night before he became an agent-at-sea.

"Not so calm that night were ya?" He slurs aloud, grinning at the mental image of Ziva breaking apart beneath him. His senses flood with the memory of her—the fire of her skin as her muscles tightened under his touch, her hair wild and silky between his fingers, and all that deadly passion focused completely on him. Even now the thought of it sends a jolt of electricity through his otherwise numb body.

The flip side to the volatile vixen Ziva-coin is, of course, the infuriating ice queen. How many minutes after he thought he might explode from the sensation of being so _one_ with a person was it before Ziva was suddenly miles away? Her cooling skin was only inches from his grasp and yet it was already as if they were on separate continents.

_One does not just resign from Mossad._

The words leap from his memories as the image of Ziva the last time he saw her plays. Ziva's bewitching eyes flash from brown to blue and back again in his addled mind. He had wanted her reassurance that this separation was just a temporary thing. That before he had time to adjust to living on a freakin' battleship, they would be back together again. Teammates. Partners. And now something more.

_Death was a certainty for her. This is something I have seen before. _

The words whispered in private comfort so long ago (but not _so_ long ago) hit him hard. His blood runs hot with a sudden rage.

"Dammit!" he yells, appreciating the effect of screaming in a tin can. His hands grope for something in his bunk. A second later, he whips the superball he finds at the wall, satisfied when he hears it ricochet around his cell for a few seconds. He's glad he found it necessary to confiscate the toy from a Seaman after receiving several noise complaints about it.

He curses again. Ziva knew something that night. She knew that being sent back to Mossad wasn't just a temporary placement for her. She knew that it was tantamount to a suicide mission. It was why she didn't come with him after they left NCIS for the last time. At first he was a little hurt that she wouldn't be there to comfort him. A selfish thought, he knows, but having her by his side the night after Jenny died was the only thing holding him together. He wanted her to do the same the night of the reassignment.

Instead, he went home alone.

It took a few shots of liquid courage and a few hours of mental abuse, but eventually he got his ass over to her place instead. Even now, he's not sure what his motive was in going to see her. He just knew he had to see her, touch her, one last time or he would regret it forever. He wasn't even gone yet and already he missed her like crazy.

He wanted to thank her for everything she'd done for him so far, all the years of saving his ass and kicking it, too. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn't be the man he is becoming without her. He wanted to show her just how much she scrambled his fucking mind sometimes, how she could make him go dizzy with lust with just a look.

Well, he never got to tell her much. But he's pretty sure the lust thing came across quite effectively. He can't help but grin at the memory of the heat created between them—talk about your spontaneous human combustion!

He wonders where she is now. He hopes she's somewhere safe, holed up in a shack and waiting for a bad guy who will never show.

_Come back to me.  
_  
He remembers the words spilling out of his mouth. He meant them, of course—God, did he mean them. But he also remembers her response:

_I want nothing more. _

Not exactly the promise he was looking for. He knows she was serious, and the thought that she feels the same consuming feelings for him that he feels for her is staggering, but that damn cold resignation in her eyes is what kills him.

He takes another pull off the tequila bottle. He winces as it blazes a trail to his stomach. It's not fair. God or fate or whatever can't be that cruel. One partner dead. One former lover dead. One boss dead. He's got the magic fucking touch.

The Ziva-in-his-head smacks him for such a ridiculous thought—_they were all strong women, Tony, they all made their choices. It wasn't your fault.  
_  
He laughs again, then downs some more tequila. Not his fault. Right.

Suddenly feeling entirely too sober, he lets his eyes drift to the place they've been avoiding. The pin-up pictures of Ziva tacked to his wall. Ah, McGenie—knew just what he needed to make it through this debacle. Probably also knew that the sexy images would torture him with memories of their single night together.

Hopefully not their last.

Because he wasn't lying when he said he'd only just found Ziva. Sneaky ninja chick that she is, she was hiding in plain sight.

And, unfortunately, he's only just realized that he's fucking in love with her.

And it's a good thing, too. Because not only does he have a knack for getting people killed, but he also has a _great_ track record when it comes to falling in love with women.

His laugh reverberates around the room. Some cosmic joke his life is.

* * *

**AN2: So…how'd I do with Tony? Vague spoiler: the superball makes a return cameo, be on the lookout! Also, bonus points to anyone who can tell me where Tony's lunch quote came from. Silly me, thought it was an actual common saying (and I use it as such IRL), but apparently I only know it from one of my favorite movies. Still, makes sense that Tony would steal it!**

**Things should start to pick up action-wise soon! I will update as I finish up the fic. I just need to make sure all my plot elements are set before sending them off into the world. Check back in the next week for more!**


	3. Tel Aviv Barcelona DC

Thanks again to all of those who took the time to review the last chapter. Keep 'em coming-- I love hearing what everyone thinks! :-) Stick with me here, this chapter and the next are still developing where are characters are at before we get more into the plot. And I never intended to write the last section but Tony snuck in there on me...how rude! Hopefully you'll enjoy this regardless! I meant to post sooner but silly real life got in the way...I gotta get moving on this before season starts to wind down and more plot bunnies breed. Eek!

* * *

(3)

Tel-Aviv – D.C. - Barcelona

_Tel Aviv – 5 weeks ago_

"Fine work, Ziva," her father, Director of Mossad, mutters without looking at her. He signs a few documents in her case file and secures it in his desk.

"Thank you, sir." She is standing at attention. Waiting for her next order. The days have gone by in a blur. Her body still aches from her last mission, a close call in the crowded marketplaces of Cairo. The thought of turning around and heading out on yet another makes her want to curl up in bed and sleep. This is unlike her, she knows. It worries her. Has she changed so much?

So lost in her daze, she doesn't notice Eli David scrutinizing her. "Something wrong?"

"No, sir," she responds quickly. Eli narrows his eyes at her.

"Always so formal now?" He leans back in his chair. Ziva shifts where she stands, feeling all of twelve years old again.

"No, Papa," she answers with a forced smile. Then, impatience gets the better of her and her thoughts spill out of her mouth before she can stop them. "Has there been any word from NCIS?"

The look on her father's face makes her regret her words instantly. "Should there be?"

"No." A wave of disappointment flushes her body. Not that she expected anything…but still. There was always the hope.

She summons all the strength in her reserves to not squirm under her father's gaze. Finally, he looks away and begins shuffling files. "Officer Meir had some interesting things to say in his report." Ziva raises her eyebrows. "He seems to think you took certain liberties with the orders given to you in Paris."

Ziva frowns, trying to remember the mission several weeks ago. "Was the mission not completed to your satisfaction?"

Eli chuckles. "No, no. Amit Rosen, that traitorous scum, is disposed of. That's all that concerns me."

"Then, the problem?" Ziva feels her ire rising. She suddenly wishes Officer Meir was somewhere within striking distance. She clenches her fists.

"There is no problem, Ziva," Eli pauses, fiddles with a pen on his desk. This tells her he is biding his time before delivering a harsher blow. "I just worry that your time in America has softened your Mossad training."

That gets her. She explodes. "You do? And yet you've sent me on mission after mission non-stop since I landed in Israel. Russia, Lebanon, France, Egypt—you order, I go! Every mission was a success. I have been jumping around the globe, serving my country with honor, doing your dirty work with no questions asked, and you are calling me _soft_?"

Eli smirks as he watches her pace the office. "I suppose not."

Ziva is breathing heavy, staring at her father. She hardly recognizes him sometimes. Her eyes narrow at him. "Have I earned your trust yet, Papa?"

The Director gestures for her to sit down. She ignores him. "Of course, my dear." His voice is more vulnerable than she expected. She feels disoriented; all the blood rushes to her head at once, and she struggles to get a grip on _something_. She falls into the nearest chair. _I just need time to breathe._ _When did things get so out of control?_ She hates feeling out of control.

"My trust in you was never in doubt, Ziva," Eli speaks softly. "You are one of my best agents."

She can't help but laugh. "Agent. Yes." This is familiar territory, finally.

"Something is different with you, Ziva," Eli frowns, studying her. Ziva lifts her chin defiantly. The thought that her father would know her well enough to recognize any one of the many emotions swirling through her mind right now is laughable.

Knowing she has him in a vulnerable position, she strikes. "I am tired of these missions, Papa."

He just raises his eyebrows at her.

"I have proven that I am still Mossad. Let me apply the talents I have learned at NCIS. I would be an asset to intelligence." She keeps her voice even and steady as she makes her request, hoping the false confidence will sway her father. It's a request she's wanted to make for some time. _I'm not just a killer anymore. I'm an investigator. _

"You are an assassin." A thread of anger laces through his words.

"Yes," she agrees, looking the Director in the eye, "but I cannot…" She hesitates, unwilling to admit weakness to her own father. Especially to her own father. But she has broached the topic and there is no turning back now. "Perhaps I have gone soft. These past few weeks have taken their toll on me, Papa."

She bites her lip so she doesn't say more. She wants to tell him about the nightmares, the regret and guilt that churn her stomach day and night. Sleep has become elusive until suddenly exhaustion catches up with her and it's too much effort to even lift a hand. Her mind is unfocused, restless. She knows that in this current state of mind it is only a matter of time until she slips and someone dies.

She misses NCIS more than she ever thought she would.

Eli shifts his gaze to a photo on the wall. A family photo, her and Tali, gap-toothed and innocent—she cannot remember when it was taken.

"You are still one of my best, Ziva." His tone leaves no room for further argument.

Her heart sinks. Her throat burns with unspoken emotions; she can hardly speak through them. Her future narrows into blackness before her. She blinks. Swallowing hard, she spits out, "Then maybe my future missions will see less success!"

A flash of disappoint crosses Eli's features, chased by something she thinks may be regret, but is soon replaced by cold resignation. A look she knows well.

Her father sighs, pushing a folder across his desk. "Then you are not long for this earth, my child. Here is your next assignment."

Ziva says nothing as she snatches the folder and storms out of his office.

* * *

_Outside of Barcelona – Present day_

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Ziva tries to calm her racing heart. She needs to calm down. She feels like she's been running for days, for weeks and now…there is nothing to do but wait. And waiting goes against every instinct she has.

She wraps an old quilt tightly around her shivering body. She can't stop shaking. Resting her bandaged head against the cool glass of the window, her eyes search the view for anything suspicious. Everything is as it should be—but for how long?

All she can do now is wait. _Please hurry. _

* * *

_D.C. – 10 weeks ago_

"Stop thinking, Ziva." The room is quiet when he wakes, but he can hear her thoughts anyway. He rolls over to face his former partner; she's turned away from him, staring out the window.

"I cannot help it," she whispers and he sighs in return. Rubbing his hands over his face, he tries to wake himself up. He doesn't want to waste any more time with her, even if the time they have now is veering into that uncomfortable _I've-just-had-mind-blowing-sex-with-my-partner-now-what_ category. Not that he has any experience with said category. It just seemed a likely conclusion and so, shockingly, here they are.

He scoots across the bed to her. Capturing her body to his like he did their last night together (but not together like this) in the hotel, he is happy to note that he much prefers the skin-to-skin contact he's achieved tonight. Ziva closes her eyes as if in pain when he clutches her to him. But when he begins dropping kisses on her hair, her neck, her ear, and so on, the pained look melts away. Still, he wonders where her thoughts were. There aren't too many safe places for them to be tonight; he's doing his best to forget anything but the last few hours.

When Ziva doesn't respond to his caresses, he stops and props his head on his hand so he can watch her. "Are you…are you regretting this?" He really hopes not.

"No, Tony. I wish I was…but no," she sighs, shifting further into his embrace.

"Good," he whispers into her hair, inhaling her scent. He thinks he should be more freaked out than he is. He certainly didn't plan for this to happen. Well, that's not entirely true. He had a pretty good hunch things would head in this direction if he visited Ziva tonight. But before that, before Jenny's death and their reassignment, he did not plan for this to happen. Of course, he's always lusted after Ziva; he _is_ a hot-blooded male, after all. This isn't just lust, though. This is something more. Something bigger than he ever anticipated.

He urges her to turn in his arms. She does. He maps her face with his gaze, making careful note of the arches of her eyebrows, the curve of her lips, and the smooth planes of her cheeks. Neither one speaks and Tony doesn't find the quiet as oppressive as he usually does. He's content to let her study him with those molten brown eyes, so intense and calculating when focused on something. She brushes her fingers along the stubble that has formed on his jaw. He kisses her hand.

"I wish…" She begins, and seems surprised that she broke their silence. Her hands drop from his face; she looks down. She doesn't continue.

Tony tries to pick up the thread of conversation. He wishes a lot of things now, too. "I wish that we hadn't waited until tonight to do this."

Ziva chuckles. Tony is really going to miss that laugh. "I'll bet. But then I would have been just another roll in the straw and I would have probably had to kill you in your sleep for that."

Tony makes a face, "First of all, it's _hay_. Not straw. And, no, you wouldn't have just been another roll in the hay because I _know_ you can kill me in any number of ways."

"Oh, admit it, Tony," Ziva winds her hands through his hair and throws a leg over his hip; her eyes tease him. Tony has to struggle to concentrate on her words and not her actions. "Until tonight, the thought of another committed relationship scared the crap out of you. Now, things are different."

"Different how?" Tony groans as Ziva begins working over his neck. Normally, he would be annoyed at the spy's uncanny ability to read his mind; right now, he cannot be bothered with such negative emotions. Not when she is touching him like she is.

"Well…in the morning, you will leave and I will leave and that will be that." She avoids his gaze as she says it, tries to distract him with her body. But her words take a straight shot to his heart and the sudden thought that this is the only time he will have with Ziva nearly paralyzes him with fear.

"No, Ziva," he says firmly. "You're wrong." Her eyes widen in surprise. He takes advantage of her shock and flips them over so she's pinned under him. He still doesn't know quite what has happened here tonight, but also realizes that the thought of a life without Ziva is totally unacceptable to him. "This is not the end of us."

Ziva's expression softens. She stares at him for a long moment; he holds his breath. "No, it's not," she whispers, resigned. He tries, and fails, to read the look in her eyes. "Let us not waste any more time, Tony," she murmurs before she presses her lips to his. The kiss starts off sad and slow, as if it is their last, but soon becomes charged with heat.

Breaking away from her, determined to push aside the inevitable heartache for the time being, he grins, "I'm glad you say that because there's this one thing I've always wanted to do to you…"

Ziva's laugh echoes through her bedroom.

* * *

**Let me know what you thought! I hope Eli was okay...not too many scenes to go on for him, so...I tried. The next part should be up soon...**


	4. Greece DC Pacific

_Hey everyone! I'm back with another chapter in which Ziva finally hits her emotional breaking point, we get our last DC flashback, and Tony gets some face-time with his NCIS friends. Come join me, will you? :-) I appreciate those who take the time to review-- you make my day! If you're reading this (and it seems a lot of you are from all the story alerts I've got), please take a few extra seconds to let me know what you think! It is excellent fuel for the muses! That said, this is the last chapter that deals largely in reflection-- we are coming up on the action, folks. So sit back and enjoy. I will be back in the next few days with more as real life allows. ENJOY!_

* * *

(4)

Greece – D.C. – Pacific

_Greece – 3 weeks ago_

At the rate she is going, she will have eliminated all traitors to the nation of Israel within the year.

Ziva sips her herbal tea as she reads through her current casefile. She idly wonders if her father assigning her to remove traitors is some sort of subtle message. She thinks back to her last conversation with the man. _You are still one of my best, Ziva. _She snorts. Yes, she is one of the best. Which is why her latest case is to "eliminate" the threat posed by a former Mossad operative. The man's version of retirement involves selling company secrets rather than learning golf.

Well, at least the bastard chose to stay at one of the nicest resorts in Greece. Ziva smiles as she takes in her surroundings. Her room is beautiful. Sunshine and the salty sea breeze stream in through the open windows, billowing the gauzy white curtains. She is steps away from the white sand beach. She supposes if she has to continue to follow her father's orders, there are worse places to be.

Returning to her file, she commits the last few details to memory. Her mission is simple—earn the man's trust, play the part of a fellow disgruntled officer (_another message from her father?_), get in on the deal and eliminate the threat to Mossad and Israel. Luckily the man was never a star agent, working mostly in low-key ops, and therefore shouldn't provide too much of a challenge. She hates to underestimate her opponent, but seeing the picture of the man makes it hard not to do just that. Middle-aged and stout with years of lavish living let her know that the rogue operative is likely easily swayed by the finer pleasures in life. She imagines all it will take is a few false promises and light flirtations to win the man's trust.

Ziva slams the case shut. Easy enough. Her mind outlines her plan of attack as she strides over to her bathroom. Running the facet, she soaks the documents in water until the ink runs down the drain.

Documents destroyed, she walks over to her balcony. The view of the Ionian Sea is spectacular. She closes her eyes and lets the roar of the waves calm her mind.

When she opens her eyes again, she finds herself contemplating the sea. It absorbs the sunlight, reflects the sky, and leaves her with a stunning palette of greens and blues. _The color of Tony's eyes._ The thought catches her off-guard; he was so far from her mind today.

Memories of him wash over her. His smug grin, the way he smells after a long day at work, the heat of his body as he invades her personal space, how he can make her feel both infuriated and content at the same time… The images keep rolling in her mind, like the waves in the ocean, one on top of another in a procession she cannot stop. Doesn't want to stop. Because this is the most she's let herself remember in a long time. His ridiculous running commentary in the squadroom, the gleam in his eye when he teases McGee, the look of intense concentration on his face as he raises his weapon…

Her soul _aches_ she misses him so intensely. The wetness on her cheeks startles her. She never cries. Not like this. But now there is no stopping it. She can hardly get a grip on one emotion before another one rocks her body—sadness, love, loneliness, fear, longing, happiness, guilt… Each one hits her full force and before she can understand it, another one takes its place.

She retreats into her room, now hiccupping because she's sobbing so hard. _Dammit, Tony_, she thinks. _Only you could make me such a wreck._ She curses him and his stupid, juvenile antics and his total inability to follow a direct order without whining and complaining, and of course there is that obnoxious tendency to flirt with every female in sight and his utter refusal to be emotionally honest and just act serious for one minute.

But then she remembers his body shaking with sobs as he mourned Jenny's death and the intense fear and even love that shone from his eyes their last night together and she cannot hate him. _Not when I love him so much…_

She collapses on her bed and pulls the quilt over her head. She tries to remember the feel of his arms around her, comforting her.

_Calm down, Ziva! Since when are you such a weak, weepy mess?_

But it is no use. The tears keep flowing. Weeks of pent up emotion spill out and she is powerless against it.

Eventually, she cries herself to sleep. Her last thought before her dreams set in is that she can't live like this for much longer.

* * *

_D.C. – 10 weeks ago_

They said goodbye in Abby's lab. The only place that still felt safe, untouched. It was awkward. Abby cried, Ducky babbled. McGee's sad eyes were impossible to ignore. Gibbs said nothing though they all studied him for some clue as to how he would fix this mess.

Tony was the most difficult to deal with; his anger kept everyone but Abby at a physical distance. Ziva knew better, though. Yes, Tony was angry but it was so much more than that. She tried not to look at him because the cracks she saw forming were more than she could ever help hold together. Eventually, there was nothing left to be said and so they went their separate ways.

She did not invite herself over to his place, not like she did that night in the hotel. He didn't ask her. Not verbally, at least. She could read in his eyes a plea for help, but she had nothing left to offer him. And so she went home.

Ziva closes her eyes against the memory of Tony's pain. She wants nothing more than to be by his side. Spend their last few hours together. But that is not possible. Not now. Instead, she sits alone in her apartment, staring into the distance.

There is no more time for words of healing. Her only recourse is the path she never wanted to travel, but would resort to tonight. She would go to his place and comfort him the only way that is left. Their boundaries are blurred enough as it is; she can't imagine navigating them in her current emotional state, not when all she wants to do is be surrounded by him. It would help him tonight. It would help her tonight, too. But then, come tomorrow, they will still be oceans apart with nothing left but the sharp edges of their memories. And if Gibbs does succeed in doing the impossible? Then where would they be? Surely they are not in the state of mind to inflict such permanent damage on their relationship.

No, it was for the best. It _is_ for the best. She knows she lets her feelings for Tony shine through more than she should; her one saving grace is that she's never crossed that clearly defined line between them. And she will not. Because what good would it do now? Tonight? When he is half-crazy with guilt and anger, when she is sick over the thought of going back to Israel and leaving the life she's created for herself here? She has made the right choice. She is certain.

And yet…already she misses Tony; the dull ache in her chest flares into stabbing pain whenever she thinks of his smile. But her feelings will subside in time. She can still pretend he was only just her partner. He will never have to know how she really felt. And if she can save him from that extra pain, it is worth it.

A knock on her door startles her out of her reverie. She moves to the window.

_Tony._ Panic floods her body. She never thought he would come to her. She thought he'd be halfway through a bottle of whiskey by now. She thought she was safe from this.

After only a moment of hesitation, she opens the door. "Tony…"

He stands before her utterly lost and broken. The outcome of this visit is laid clear before her. It is everything she didn't want to happen and yet she knows she is defenseless against it. No walls will be built now, not when he's standing at her doorstep in the middle of the night.

"Ziva," he exhales, and she gets the sense he meant to say more but the words have fled him. Instead, he steps inside and walks right up to her. Her breath catches in her throat when he runs a hand along her cheek. Suddenly, his eyes are clearer than she's seen them in days—a startling green, the color of spring. Her heart threatens to explode out of her chest. He knows where this is going, too.

There is nothing left to say.

She raises her head to his, a subtle invitation. He wastes no more time. One quick step and he has her in his arms. There is not hesitation, no last look, just his lips firm and urgent against hers. She melts into his kiss, aware of nothing but the sensation of him. He tastes bittersweet like whiskey. The delicious heat of his body igniting the fire in her own only serves to remind her of just how frozen she's been these past few days. But it doesn't matter now because his hands tangle in her hair and press her body close.

There is nothing left to say.

* * *

_Somewhere in the Pacific – 4 Weeks Ago_

"Tony!" Abby's cheery face fills his monitor.

"Abs!" He smiles, feeling truly happy for the first time in weeks. He leans forward in his seat to get a better view of their video call. "How's my favorite scientist?"

"Horrible," Abby sighs melodramatically. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too," Tony says sincerely. "How are the replacements?"

Rolling her eyes, Abby launches into a detailed list of everything Gibbs' new recruits have done wrong in the last few weeks. Tony finds himself zoning out, content just to watch the animated expressions play on his friend's face.

"Probie!" Tony exclaims when he sees McGee enter into Abby's lab. "They let you out of the subbasement."

Abby whirls around from the camera and yanks McGee into its range. She gives him a big squeeze; McGee tries, but fails, to look annoyed.

"Tony," he says evenly. "How's life on the high seas?"

Affecting a pirate voice, Tony sings, "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life's for me. I pillage, I plunder—"

"Okay, okay, we got it," McGee rolls his eyes.

Abby pouts. "Yeah, Tony, don't waste our face time!"

"If such a thing were even possible," Tony flashes his biggest smile for the camera.

Abby grins back. "So? How are you really doing?" The brightness on her face dims into concern.

Tony feels his good mood fade fast. "I'm fine," he lies. "I will be better when I'm on dry land. Now, my little cybergeeks, tell me—just what is Gibbs doing with all that pent up aggression now that he can't smack me on the head?"

His former teammates take the bait and start chattering away about life at NCIS. Tony listens with a forced smile. It's funny. Growing up being shipped to various boarding schools all over the country made him think he was immune to homesickness. Apparently, that is not the case.

As Abby winds up a story about Gibbs one-upping Vance in sports trivia in front of the entire squadroom (Tony never thought this would be possible), Tony takes his opportunity to ask the one question that's been plaguing him. "Have you guys heard anything from Ziva?" He tries to keep his voice casual, but a note of worry finds its way in.

Abby looks like he just murdered Bert. "No, Tony."

"We were kind of hoping you had heard from her," McGee says, putting a consoling arm around Abby.

Tony pushes aside the panic that seizes him. "No, I haven't. But I'm sure she's just busy with…. stuff."

"Yeah," McGee nods, mostly for Abby's benefit, "…_stuff_."

Abby is trying not to cry. "Guys! This sucks!"

"I know, Abs," Tony affirms, scrubbing his head with his hands. "But it won't be forever." He has to believe that.

Abby perks up a little. "You're right. Gibbs is on the case. We can't lose."

McGee gives her a sad smile and squeezes her shoulder. "I think it's time to say good-bye. Our time is nearly up."

Abby protests, but eventually they exchange good-byes and promise to keep in touch. When they sign-off, Tony is left staring at a black screen. He groans. How fitting.

Thinking he'll make good on his promise to keep in better contact with his friends, he navigates his web browser to his private email account. Shooting off quick emails to McGee, Abby, and Ducky, he finds himself opening another new message window.

He stares at the blank space for five solid minutes. _She probably doesn't even have internet access_, a voice in his head taunts. But he ignores that voice and starts typing anyway. All the thoughts that have been swirling in his head the past few weeks get typed up in a neat little email. Then, he hits send before he has time to change his mind. Or reread what he wrote.

_There. Done. _

He feels satisfied, hopeful. Then is seized by terror as he remembers exactly what he just wrote.

_Oh no. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Scrambling in his seat, he madly clicks around his email account for some function that will retrieve his sent email. Apparently, that is not possible. His breathing becomes very shallow.

_Okay, is it really that bad, DiNozzo?_

He traces his thoughts backwards. And, yes, many of them are bad. But not _bad _bad….just, _truthful_ bad.

He pulls open his sent email. Reads it about a dozen times. The first six times he rereads it, he finds himself shredding some hopefully unimportant paperwork on his desk with his hands and trying not to scream. Then, as the words on the screen marinate in his brain a little, he finds himself smiling. Because everything he said is true. Scary…but true.

_And Ziva will be reading it. All of it. Hopefully. _

As he pictures Ziva reading his confession, he begins to feel giddy with excitement. He only wishes he could be there to see it—the shock, surprise, and amusement all at war on her features. Isn't she always the first to accuse him of not being emotionally honest?

_Take that warrior woman! _

As he logs off and gets back to work, he finds himself whistling.


	5. Greece Pacific Greece

**I really want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review! I appreciate all the responses I'm getting. Reading your feedback always inspires me to explore new scenes and dimensions in this that I wasn't originally planning on exploring-- unfortunately, that makes it a slower process for you readers. Fortunately, that makes this story a lot better-- so, thank you! I was having a tough time with this part and there was originally more action in it, but for the sake of getting the story moving I changed a few things. I feel like I finally have a grasp on the path this takes to the end, most of which is already written. So, though real life is busy, busy, busy, I am trying to keep the posting pace up! I appreciate your patience and continued motivation to keep it going! :-) Happy Friday and enjoy!!!**

(5)

Greece – Pacific – Greece

_Greece – 3 weeks ago_

The dawn light trickles into her room, easing her awake. The sky is a still purple; the waves seem to roll more gently.

Ziva sits up, stretches. It is early but she feels more alert than she has in days. She smiles. Certainly she did not anticipate feeling this good when she woke. Her late night in the resort bar, letting her target stare down her dress as she pretended to laugh at his stupid jokes, was draining. She fell into her bed around midnight, her head throbbing from inhaling clove cigarette smoke all evening. This mission has entailed a lot of lounging in the resort bar, with its loud music and smoky air, and she's spent most evenings trying to battle against the resulting headaches. Occupational hazard, she supposes.

This morning, though, she feels good. Refreshed. Better than she has in weeks. Maybe her body is finally re-adjusting to this lifestyle. She decides to take advantage of it and head for a run on the beach.

Lacing up her running shoes, Ziva feels hopeful for the first time in awhile.

The sun is rising in the sky by the time she returns. She pushed herself hard today and enjoys the resulting ache in her muscles. After a quick shower, she sits down to a breakfast of fruit and yogurt. She pulls out her laptop, beginning the tedious process of logging into her secure Mossad email account.

She is humming to herself as she completes the process. It must be all the sunshine she's getting here.

She types up a quick status update to send to her father. With Mossad intelligence at risk for a leak, she needs to keep the organization appraised of her findings. Her last meet with the target revealed that he will be meeting with a potential buyer soon—a Hamas operative who will pay for access to Mossad secrets. She is hoping to be invited along, or at the very least get information on the meet. It doesn't much matter to her—just as long as she knows where to be to stop the buy and nail the traitors. And it isn't even like her target has let on that he knows any truly damaging information. It's clear he's disgruntled about his tenure with Mossad and wants to damage them in any way possible, but what he knows isn't something that will earn him big bucks on the open market. Ziva rolls her eyes as she types; if only her target realized just how big of a misstep he's really made. It's not worth the risk of selling state secrets if you have nothing truly useful to sell and are only out for some petty revenge or quick cash. Her target is a victim of his own hubris. After encrypting her message, she sends it on its way.

She stares at the computer screen for a long moment. A few swift clicks and she finds herself facing a free email server. She blames her good mood; in any other state of mind, she would've known this was too much for her. Now, she just feels curious…because surely it can only make her feel better, right?

She's not wrong.

She logs into the secure email account McGee had set up for her, and everyone else on the team. It is separate from their official NCIS email account. He set them up as an insurance policy, in case they ever needed to get in touch with one another through unofficial channels.

Ziva is surprised to see that she has over 70 unread messages since she last checked the account. Of course, she last checked the account before she left for Israel. She scans her inbox. The majority of the emails are from Abby; it looks as if she's sent at least one a day. McGee has sent out at least one a week, it seems. There are also a handful from Ducky and even Palmer. Unsurprisingly, Gibbs has not sent out any. But when she sees Tony's name, her heart skips a beat. He's only sent her one email, a week ago.

Her cursor hovers over the letter. At the last minute, she chickens out and clicks on an email from Abby titled _Day 32_.

_ZIVAAAAAAA! Maybe if I yell, you will hear me. No, huh? Well, it was worth a shot. It just sucks talking into the void, not knowing if you're reading this--- and why aren't you reading these? And responding, for that matter? Did you forget us all already? Are you hunting down evil spies in Russia? Dodging bullets and bombs? I really hope not. I appreciate your bad-assery as much as anyone else, but the most important thing is that you return to us in one piece. I'm serious. Your kung fu might be better than mine, but my kung fu leaves no evidence. _

_It sucks without you here. So I will keep talking to you until you tell me to shut up. _

_Sending love and stealth your way,_

_Abby_

_P.S.- I am bugging Gibbs everyday to hurry up and bring my team home. So just hang tight until that happens—it WILL happen or else Gibbs is going to be on the receiving end of some of my aforementioned kung fu-ery._

_P.P.S.- What is the Israeli equivalent of a Caf-Pow? IS there an Israeli equivalent? These are things I need to plan for in case this separation extends for too long and I'm forced to come visit you! _

_P.P.P.S.- Timmy and Ducky say hi! Palmer probably, too, but he is MIA (just from the lab, not in general—he's probably on a muffin break or something). Gibbs also probably says hi in as much as he ever exchanges simple social pleasantries. I haven't talked to Tony recently but you know he says hi, too. Maybe more than hi, right? ;-)_

_Ooooh. Gibbs just walked in. He's reading over my shoulder now. Got to run. Hugs from me!_

Ziva finds herself smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt as she closes out Abby's email. She clicks through a few more. They are all just as wonderful and rambling. McGee's emails are less touchy-feeling, but just as nice. He sends her updates on life at NCIS and the progress of his new book. She is overwhelmed by this outpouring from her former teammates. That they were thinking of her, missing her just as much as she misses them, makes her feel lighter than she has in weeks. She will have to write them back, though she isn't quite sure what to say. _Hello, I miss you all, too! Keeping busy assassinating terrorists and traitors! Write back soon! _Ziva sighs and clicks back to her inbox. She will have to think more about it.

The email from Tony confronts her. She hesitates. There is no subject line, which is so typical of him. She's afraid to open it. There is no way it won't hurt her, whatever it says.

But she is a trained killer. She is not afraid of things like emails.

So she opens it.

_Dear Ziva,_

_I wonder if you'll even get this. Do they give international super-spies internet access? I hope so. _

_What is there to say? I've never written a letter like this before. And you know how horrible I am about writing emails. I kept hoping that you would email me first. Or call. I miss you like crazy, my ninja._

_Being Agent Afloat isn't so horrible—if you don't mind living in a metal box with crap food and whiny seamen. They are worse than 10,000 probies, I swear. _

_God, this is stupid. I hate small talk. What I really want to tell you is that I think I'm doing better. I think you'd want to hear that. I wish you were here to kick my ass into shape a little more (and my cozy little bunk would be much cozier with you in it) but I've been surviving on my own. I'm trying to remember some of the things you said, even if I have to translate them into actual English for them to make sense. Having your voice in my head, freaky as it is, is strangely helpful._

_Please be careful out there. That's silly to say, I know, considering you can take care of yourself better than anyone I know. Except maybe Gibbs. And I know if I said it to your face you'd probably laugh in that annoying yet irresistible way of yours before physically assaulting me, but still… _

_Every day I wake up hoping today will be the last day on this stupid raft, that Gibbs will be calling to say that you're waiting at home for me. I picture you safe in D.C., pissed off that I'm still at sea, waving your knives at Vance to bring me back, and wearing nothing but my favorite Ohio State t-shirt. (Hey, a guy can dream!) Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Sounds like something Ducky would say. But it's true. My heart is very fond of you, Ziva. And that's all I'm going to say before I can say it to your face. After dealing with all my commitment issues these past few years, you deserve the last laugh when I say what it is I think I want to say to you. Well, what I know I want to say to you. (Please don't actually laugh in my face, though. A guy with commitment issues tends to have other issues as well…so I'll let you decide on the appropriate way to make me eat crow—not literally, Ziva; it's just an expression! Look it up!)_

_I know I've done a lot of stupid things over the years, but the one that tops the list has to be not realizing sooner that there's something between us. Because now I feel like the biggest fool ever. I've always known that you were the best partner I could ask for, the best friend I've had, and the sexiest woman I've ever laid eyes on…and done nothing about that? What a McDoofus. I guess I was just too scared. _

_But now I know. And oceans and international spy agencies be damned, we will get our chance. _

_I'm counting the days, Ziva. _

_Yours,_

_Tony_

_P.S. How's that for emotional honesty? Boom goes the dynamite! Hoo-ah!_

Ziva finds herself chuckling through the tears that threaten to spill as she finishes the letter. She feels Tony's absence acutely. Angry that he is not by her side, she grabs her knife from where it rests nearby and flings it at the wall. It lands dead center in the door to her room.

She takes a deep breath and tries to push down the tears that threaten to erupt. She's sick of crying.

Her cell phone rings.

Collecting herself, she answers it on the fourth ring. It is her target, inviting her out for a morning stroll. _It's show time._

Ziva glances at the email again, trying to commit every word to memory. Hitting reply, she fires off a quick response. He deserves more, and there is so much more she wants to say, but she can't. Later. Later she will have more time.

She hits send and logs-off.

Then, she goes.

* * *

_Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean – 3 Weeks Ago_

His bunk is dark; the only light radiates from his computer screen.

He's been staring at his inbox for ten minutes. Ziva wrote him back. His heart does a flip every time he even thinks about opening it. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had some adult beverage to get through this moment. But he's sworn off drinking unless absolutely necessary and while he's quite sure this could be considered an absolutely necessary occasion, he doesn't have a bottle of anything stronger than _Mountain Dew_. And it's not like you can just run to the liquor store when you're stuck on a floating city.

Finally, he opens the email.

_Tony,_

_It's been 48 days since I last held you in my arms. _

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Ziva_

Tony stares blankly at the screen. That's it? He pours his heart out to her via e-mail and that's all he gets back? A movie quote runs through his head: _I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen. _

Tony grabs his superball and takes great satisfaction in hurling it at the wall. The fantastic sound of it bouncing off the walls, and even a few objects, makes him feel a little better.

Though, when the ball nails him on the back of the head with its final bounce, he can't help but think it is some sort of cosmic sign—the hand of Gibbs from afar.

He re-reads the message. He feels a little better. A little more hopeful. She has been counting the days. She clearly liked holding him and though he appreciates the sentiment, he is a little squicked by the sappiness of the expression—even if he misses holding her, too. And she can't wait to see him again. And she loves him…_maybe_, insofar as one can assume love from the sign-off of an email.

He sounds like McGee gone McGirl. But what's a lonely pirate to do?

He reads the message yet again and tries to picture her writing it. In his mind, she is wearing one of her sexy badass outfits, maybe a tight black tank top, with her wild curls tossed to one side of her head. She had no time to sit and contemplate a reply; instead she dashed off the letter as she ran out the door, guns blazing. A brief moment of contact, but contact all the same. At least he knows she's still out there, somewhere, and capable of typing.

He shakes his head. Well, Ziva wouldn't be Ziva if she didn't utterly perplex him. It's one of the many things he loves about her. He smiles to himself. _Loves her._ He's starting to get used to that now.

He only hopes he has the chance to say it to her face.

Without thinking, he picks up his phone and dials. His call is answered after a few short rings.

"Yeah?" the voice comes over the line, thick with sleep. Tony winces. He did not think about the time difference.

"Er…sorry to wake you, Gibbs."

"_What_, DiNozzo," his former boss yawns into the phone. Tony isn't entirely sure the man is awake.

"It's nothing…" Tony feels foolish for calling. But he knows Gibbs will force it out of him eventually, so he rushes to add, "Just wanted to say…you have to bring us home. Soon."

A heavy sigh comes over the line. "Workin' on it," Gibbs snarls, then hangs up the phone.

Tony hangs up his end of the line. Rubbing his head, he lets out a frustrated groan. Out of habit, his eyes lift to the images of Ziva on his wall.

"Oh my sweet, sexy super spy," he whispers with a grin, "I hope you are kicking some major terrorist tail."

Then, he reads her email again.

* * *

_Greece – 3 weeks ago_

He watches her in the dim light of the club.

The haze of smoke in the air is colored by the different lights pulsing on the ceiling. She moves in time to the beat of the music, a subtle and smooth rhythm. Purples, blues, greens, and pinks all dance across her caramel skin and highlight her features.

A beautiful woman, that is no question.

But though she wants him to admire the supple curve of her hips and the sultry tumble of raven curls across her face, he finds himself immune to her charms. He plays along, of course, for that is the game. She is very good and there are times he finds himself caught in her web of seduction. He spills stories he never meant to tell after a few too many shots of tequila, finds himself detailing all the ways in which Mossad ruined his life after she stares at him with those piercing eyes.

He tells her how he hates Mossad, yes, but he never tells her why.

She thinks, like he wants her to, that he is just a bumbling fool ready to sell secrets for a quick payout. How wrong she is.

She is an exquisite woman and clearly a good, dutiful agent.

Her father's daughter, that is for sure.

His lips curl into a smile around his cigarette as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He never thought himself a lucky man, but he was really blessed with this turn of fate.

And now this will be bigger than he ever hoped, more than he could have ever asked for. He sends up a silent prayer of thanks to his beloved Noa.

Soon, all of Israel, Mossad, and, most especially, Eli David will understand his pain.

And he will finally be delivered from it.

* * *

**Dun, dun, dun! More this weekend, I promise! Let me know what you think! This was my favorite Tony part to write for some reason. Ahhh, I love that man!**


	6. Greece

**I'm back like I promised! Here is a quick chapter with more on the way soon...I won't make you hang too long. ;-) Thanks again for all the reviews! Enjoy this wee little bit...**

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(6)

Greece

_Greece – 2 weeks ago_

It all went wrong so quickly.

She followed her target—Levi Yadin, he deserves a name now—back to his private patio for drinks. She thought this would be her moment. She thought this was when the deal would finally go down. When, after a week of evasion and sidestepping, Levi would finally reveal his intended buyer to her so she could nail them both and end this.

But she was horribly wrong. And her error in judgment is costing her big time.

"Officer David," Levi snarls out her name. One of his private security goons has a knife to her neck. _And, really, what Mossad officer, retired or otherwise, needs private security?_ "Please stop struggling."

If looks could kill, the vile man would be dead on the ground. She elbows her captor in the stomach just because she can. He grunts, then holds her tighter. The cool blade of the knife presses tightly to her skin and she knows that one wrong move will be her last. A third man comes and whispers something in Levi's ear. She strains to hear it but cannot. After a brief exchange, the new man is standing watch over her as well. She notes the gun concealed at his hip.

"I can help you, Levi," she says evenly, trying not to sound too desperate. They are standing on Levi's private beach, a beautiful garden on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. The breeze picks up and whips Ziva's hair into her face. She curses herself for not wearing it up.

Levi laughs. "Of course you can, darling. Let's go march into daddy's office together."

Her captor laughs too. His breath smells like rotten fish; a wave of nausea strikes her.

"Do you really think this is your best move? That the Director will let you live now? I was sent to kill you, Levi! You have turned on Mossad and your country!" Ziva is grasping at straws now, anything to buy herself more time. The steely determination in Levi's eyes informs her that his mind will not be changed. But if she just had more time to think…

"Israel sent my daughter to her death!" Levi thunders, causing Ziva's heart to plummet. _So this is not just about greed or revenge against an agency he hated? _Levi spits on the ground and yanks the knife from his belt, sending it flying past Ziva's head. It misses its target, a nearby tree, by a few inches and falls harmlessly to the rocks below. Ziva doesn't flinch. _And this man was Mossad?_

Seeing the anger and desperation in Levi Yadin for the first time, Ziva's mind clicks back to his dossier. She remembers a footnote about him having a daughter who served in the Israeli Defense Forces, a jet fighter pilot. There was nothing noted about her death.

"Your daughter was a soldier! She died a noble death, serving her country. Something that cannot be said for her father—the coward," she lashes, hoping that she's guessing correctly. She shifts her body so when her captor tries to hold her tighter she leverages a better position. These goons are not Mossad, that is for sure.

Levi turns on her, his face purple with rage. "My daughter was a soldier _and _Mossad until Eli David ordered her to her death!"

Levi's words knock the air out of her lungs more effectively than any blow. Her mind races as she struggles for air. Her captor's hand wanders and all lucid thought is replaced by burning rage. Ziva laughs harshly. "And so now you repay him by killing his only daughter."

"That is only part of the plan, my dear," Levi looks positively gleeful; he pulls another knife from his hip and turns it in his hands. "A happy twist of fate."

Ziva thinks back. How did Levi find out her true identity? She retraces her steps, trying to see where she might've slipped, but comes up with nothing. But more than that, here she is in perfect position, a sitting duck for a man bent for revenge. _A happy twist of fate._ Her blood boils. There is only one person who could send her straight into this man's trap. Was it intentional? If so, how could her father not tell her of this man's motive? How could he even send her down this path?

Ziva slams her foot on her captor's heel, liking his screech of pain and ignoring the threat of the blade on her skin. "You think my father will be broken hearted over my death? You are wrong! He trained me, his own daughter, as an assassin. My death is of no concern to him."

As the words come flying out, it startles her how true they are. Of course her father would be saddened by her death, but how upset could he truly ever be when he sends her out on these missions in the first place. When he sent her straight into Levi Yadin's arms. _You are one of my best agents. _Her position in Mossad clearly trumps any position in his family. She is just another pawn in his game. True, she chose this field but how much of the choice was ever really hers?

"Yes, yes, you are right," Levi chuckles. Then, he rattles off a command in a dialect Ziva doesn't understand to one of his men. The third man produces a video camera from his coat. Ziva's heart pounds. _Oh, this is not good._ She sees her options dwindling fast. She knows she has to act soon if she is ever going to make it out of this alive.

_I'm counting the days, Ziva._

An image of Tony flashes across her mind.

_Come back to me. _

Her father may get over her death, may order a few men to take out Levi and his crew, but it will not be so easy for Tony. Or any of her American friends, for that matter.

"Perhaps your father will not be so unaffected when he has to watch your death broadcast on the world news. A headline event, don't you think?" Levi signals to the man with the camera, who starts recording. "Though if the torture and murder of his own daughter doesn't disturb him, the poor publicity probably will. One of his own former operatives turns against him? And just how did that happen? How secure is our national intelligence, really? When daddy-dearest is forced to step down, what will become of Mossad?"

A flash of fear cuts through Ziva. There's a bigger picture here and she hates that she can't see it.

The reject trying to restrain her pushes the knife too hard into her neck. She feels the sting of its blade, the warm trickle of blood. He laughs, his acrid breath turning her stomach again.

_Kick ass, Ziva, and come back to me. _

A surge of adrenaline rushes through Ziva, stronger than she's ever felt before. And who are these men anyway? A washed up Mossad officer and his two flunkies? Her odds of overcoming three armed men aren't great, but she has a solid chance_. I will not die like this._

Her eyes flick over to the camera and the man with the evil grin behind it. Levi is narrating the scene in Hebrew, but his words hardly register with her. Ziva's captor loosens his hold on her just enough; he is distracted by the prospect of sudden fame.

Ziva takes her chance.

One swift movement has her captor flung on the ground. Levi throws his knife at her, reaching for his gun at the same time. But he is out of shape and the move is too complicated for him; he is not quick enough. Ziva easily ducks the knife and moves to take out the third man. His eyes are wide with fear, with uncertainty over whether to drop the camera and fight or to continue filming. Ziva smiles wickedly at him. As he hesitates, she lands a kick to his chest and a satisfying hit to his head. He goes down. The camera goes flying.

Turning to Levi, she finds him leveling a gun at her face. She laughs. He advances. She lunges for him. He panics.

The gun goes off with a sickening crack. Sudden searing, stinging pain strikes Ziva. Enraged, she struggles to land any blow she can to Levi. She registers the sound of cracking bone, a pained yell. She's off balance though, and is easily taken down by a backhand to her face.

And then she's falling.

And falling. And falling.

Then nothing.


	7. Greece Pacific Italy

**Thanks once again to all of you who take the time to review! I'm brewing up an idea of how to reward you all-- in my line of work, we're all about reinforcing positive behavior and I do think that reviewing is behavior that needs to be rewarded! ;-) I felt bad leaving you on a cliffhanger so here's the next part....which is also a cliffhanger of sorts. (Eek!) This also takes us to about the half-way point for those keeping score. I will write some more notes below so if you could just stick with me until then, I would appreciate it! ENJOY!**

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_(6) _

_Greece – Pacific – Italy _

_Greece – 12 days ago_

"Any word?" Levi Yadin paces his private beach and stares out into the sea. He waits for a wave to crest and reveal her body. He curses himself again for letting her get away—especially when she had just been brought to him like a gift from above.

"No, sir," the young man he pays to follow his every order has the good sense to look pained at his answer. "We are still searching."

Levi curses again, whirling on the young man. He is pleased to see the fear that blossoms on his face. "You will find her!"

"But, sir…we have boats patrolling the shore and I've interviewed every fisherman I could find. She could not have survived!"

Levi shakes his head. "She is not presumed dead until we have her body. FIND IT!"

With a startled jump, the man scurries off. Levi lights himself a cigarette and goes back to staring out into the sea, waiting. He was never very good at waiting.

The Director's daughter escaped. This changes his plans completely. He is gravely disappointed that he can't show the Director the same agony he feels, but there is still time yet. They may find her.

Still, does it even matter? He has quite enough to complete his original mission. His mind drifts over his options, plotting outcomes and contingencies, and trying to see the big picture.

Truly, it doesn't matter what he does.

The outcome is always the same. And that brings him peace.

Stomping out his half-smoked cigarette, he retreats inside his suite. He has things to do.

* * *

_Still floating in the Pacific Ocean – 11 days ago_

Tony is about to leave his office and take a lap around the carrier when his phone rings.

"DiNozzo," he snaps as he picks it up. He hopes that someone isn't complaining about Petty Officer Jenkins again. He can't force anyone to take a shower.

"Well, at least you haven't fallen overboard yet."

Tony finds himself smiling at the familiar voice. "Gibbs! Let me guess—it's time for me to blow this popsicle stand?"

The snort on the other end of the line quickly deflates his balloon of hope. "Just checking in."

"Okay…" Tony frowns. Gibbs really isn't the checking-in type. Then, as his mind races through reasons why the boss-man would feel compelled to call him, it hits him. "Ah! What did Abby blackmail you with?"

"She's holding my DNA results hostage until I call you," Gibbs says, not bothering to sound abashed.

Tony's mood darkens. "Well, you called," he replies shortly.

"Yeah."

The line is silent for a minute. Tony's finger dances over the END button as he contemplates hanging up on his mentor. Clearly, Gibbs had no real interest in finding out how he was doing. He probably just wants to appease Abby, get his DNA results, and go back to saving the world.

"DiNozzo?"

"Yeah?" Tony sighs and rubs his face.

"So…how ya doing?" Gibbs' voice is softer than usual, that caring tone he reserves for the direst of occasions. Tony can't help the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes over him when he thinks of being back in D.C. with the gruff older man. All the orneriness and vague orders are worth the rare times when Gibbs shows he truly cares. Like now.

"Fine, Gibbs." Tony rolls his eyes. Leave it to Gibbs to show interest at the exact time he doesn't want to talk about anything. He misses everyone, of course, and hearing from his boss again is as welcome as solid earth right now. But what is there left to say other than get me out of here?

"Something bugging you, DiNozzo?"

Tony is impressed that Gibbs' mind-reading trick works from thousands of miles away. And how even from that distance, he is not immune to its pull. "A little too much time to think, I guess," he answers honestly. _Damn Gibbs and his freakish interrogation skills._ "Being sealed in a tin can will do that to you. The mind, it wanders. Kinda like Nicholson in _The Shining_, I guess—going stir-crazy. Except not _that_ crazy."

Gibbs takes a deep breath, like he's trying to be patient. "Thinking about anything useful at least? Or is it just an endless parade of movie garbage?"

Tony plops down at his desk. He never thought he would miss being berated by Gibbs, but it is oddly comforting. The thoughts that have been plaguing him at night, albeit to a lesser degree than they were before, threaten to spill forth. "Just…been thinking about what happened with…"

"Jenny," Gibbs saves him, his voice quiet. Tony expels a heavy sigh.

"Yeah," Tony begins, unsure if he should say what he feels…unsure if it is worth the risk. But then again, being adrift in the middle of the ocean certainly makes it more difficult for Gibbs to smack him. More difficult—but not impossible. "I'm starting to realize that maybe it wasn't totally my fault." Tony winces at the hesitant tone he uses. At how silly the words sound to his ears.

"I don't blame you, Tony. I never did."

Tony smiles despite himself. "Liar."

Gibbs actually chuckles. "It's time to move on, DiNozzo. You couldn't have changed the outcome. We both know that."

"Yeah," Tony rubs his eyes. He does know that. Jenny made her choices. His mind jumps to another track, another issue that has been bothering him. "Have you heard from Ziva, Boss?" He hasn't heard anything since her brief email and it's been gnawing at him.

"Not your boss any more," Gibbs corrects. Then, when Tony says nothing, he adds, "No, I haven't heard from Ziva. I'm sure her postcards just got lost in the mail."

Tony frowns at Gibbs' flippant tone. Mostly because he doesn't seem at all worried about his former partner. But also because he's been sending frequent postcards to NCIS himself—but it's not like he's the postcard type really, it's just that Abby is.

"Is there any way you can find out? You know, if she's okay?" Tony can't believe he's sounding so desperate, and to Gibbs of all people. But there is no other way to know. And he needs to know.

"She's a big girl, Tony," Gibbs' voice rings with impatience, "she can take care of herself."

Tony grips the phone hard. "Yes, she can. But we talked before she left and the way she put it, the things they would order her to do… I'm just worried, Gibbs. And no one has heard from her." He doesn't tell Gibbs about his lone email.

"Mossad is a legitimate government organization, DiNozzo. Her father is the director for God's sake. Ziva can handle whatever they throw at her. She's probably just undercover, out of reach."

Frustrated, and not comforted by the image of her completely out of touch, Tony smacks his desk. Gibbs says nothing, but his silence is judgment enough. Tony can practically see his look through the phone.

"She was scared, Boss," Tony sighs, collecting himself. "I mean…not _scared_, because Ziva isn't scared of anything, but she was resigned to whatever it is that is happening to her right now." He pauses, picturing the look on her face as they said goodbye_. I want nothing more._ "She wasn't planning on returning."

Gibbs is silent. Tony waits for some words of reassurance, some sign that he can stop dreaming of Ziva, bloody and lifeless in the desert somewhere.

"Tony…I really don't think it's that bad." Even Gibbs sounds like he's lying now. Tony is suddenly exhausted.

"To her it is," Tony whispers, then, without thinking, adds, "Please bring her back to me." He hangs up the phone.

Back in D.C., Gibbs is left wondering just how close his two agents really are.

* * *

_Italy –11 days ago_

Consciousness returns gradually.

First, there is pain-- an aching in her head, rippling soreness in her chest, and the general sensation that she's been hit by a truck.

Pain is good. Not _good _good. But it means she's alive.

Her eyes won't open and it hurts to breathe. The bed she's lying in is lumpy, scratchy. She wants to move, get comfortable, but her body is not obeying her mind.

She's alive.

_What happened?_

Ignoring the pain for a moment, she tries to remember. She comes up with nothing.

_Blackness. Falling. Pain. Nothing. Blackness. Falling. Wetness?_

_Fight. Fight. Fight._

She wakes with a jolt.

"Okay, okay, calm down," a soothing voice whispers. It takes her a moment to translate the words through various languages, recognizing what she understands, filtering it through her native tongue, remembering the sounds: Italian. _Italian?_

She looks around, orients herself. Hospitals are universal environments to some degree. This one is no different—a sterile room, equipment that has seen better days but is not entirely dated, tubes and monitors attached to her body, a giant crucifix in plain view (_a Catholic hospital_).

The kind voice speaks in Italian again but her brain is too muddled to understand it. She finds the voice attached to a young woman, no more than thirty, who checks and adjusts the machines around her.

"English?" She asks, hoping the nurse can speak a tongue she's more comfortable with.

"Si!" The woman brightens. Then, realizing her mistake shakes her head of dark curls with a laugh. "I mean, yes!"

Ziva sighs in relief. "Where am I?" Flashes of the struggle that landed her here assault her foggy mind, but leave her clueless as to how she ended up in a hospital bed in Italy. Safe, apparently, for the time being—but what did she leave behind? How long before they find her?

The nurse makes a few notes on her chart. "Brindisi, Italy." Then, she frowns. "You don't remember what happened? A ferryboat returning from Greece pulled you out of the Ionian Sea three days ago, half drowned. You've been unconscious since."

Ziva blinks. She remembers falling. She must've tumbled over the cliff. Her hand flies up to her head, remembering the pain there. She feels a bandage, stitches, dried blood.

"Do you remember what happened?" The nurse pries, concern on her features. "It looks like you took quite the beating."

Shaking her head, Ziva lowers her hand. "My injuries?"

The nurse hesitates. "Oh, well the doctor will be in shortly. He'll be glad to see you're awake! We were all so worried… The prognosis isn't so great for women fished out of the sea, you know?"

Ziva fixes the young woman with a pained smile. She sort of reminds her of Abby, with the same innate kindness radiating from her eyes. "Please."

"Okay, but, really the doctor should…" Off Ziva's pleading look, the nurse finally caves. "A few stitches to your scalp, a mild concussion—perhaps you were hit on the head with something? A few bumps and bruises, that horrible laceration on your neck, two fractured ribs, and a heck of a lot of seawater in your system...slight hypothermia, but it looks like you weren't in the water too long, thankfully…"

Ziva nods. That fits. The bullet must've grazed her skull. Good thing Levi is a horrible shot.

The nurse looks uncomfortable now. Ziva imagines that she is not used to patients being pulled out of the sea, no knowledge of their injuries or whereabouts. But the woman seems friendly, someone to trust. Her English is fluent, comfortable—she's probably spent some time in the States if her accent is any indication. Ziva likes her.

"The doctor will do a much better job…" The woman avoids her eyes now, toys with her blankets. She is hiding something. She wants to say it, but doesn't feel it is her place.

"You can tell me," Ziva says in the most reassuring voice she can manage. "I would rather hear it in plain English than in medical words." It is enough to push the nurse over the edge. Her face lights up, blue eyes sparkle.

"And…I'm sure you will be happy to hear, it was touch and go for awhile, but as of now your baby seems to be doing just fine!" The woman beams at her. Ziva cannot respond. She got stuck a few words back.

"I'm sorry…_baby_?" She barks, the act sending a trail of fire down her throat.

The nurse's face drops. "Uh, yes. The baby seems to be doing fine…Pretty miraculous, actually, when you think about it…"

"But," Ziva frowns, wondering what kind of incompetent hospital she washed up in, "I'm not pregnant."

Looking momentarily confused, the nurse soon realizes what a bomb she has dropped. Panic crosses her pretty face. She glances around the room for help that isn't there, eventually succumbing to Ziva's questioning eyes. "Uh…yes…yes, you are."

Ziva just stares as the nurse shows her the fetal monitor they have her attached to and there, unmistakably, is the heartbeat of…her baby.

"Oh God," she whispers. _Pregnant?_

That's all she can think before the world spins into blackness again.

* * *

**AN2: *ducks to avoid flying objects* I know, I know...I went there! Ahhh! Full disclosure: I wrote this story, these next few parts specifically, as well as the first few flashbacks, in a major writing binge. This was very early in my NCIS career (all 2 months of it!). I hadn't read much NCIS fic at that point, still haven't read a ton, but didn't realize how...cliche...this plot point has become. So I debated going back to rewrite everything but then I realized I had to be true to my original story and tell this tale the way I want. I can only hope this will be a GOOD representation of this admittedly over-used plot! Stick with me here, there's some good stuff to come and (I PROMISE) no major OOC fluffiness or what have you. Trust me dear readers-- or flame me if you must. I can handle it. (Though, flames are not positive behavior and therefore will not be rewarded!) More soon!**


	8. Italy

**I'm back with more! Thanks to all of those who reviewed the previous chapter-- glad to hear that most of you are on board for the rest of this! This next chapter is the most introspective of the bunch, so since we're lacking in action here I will be back later this weekend with the follow up chapter. Wouldn't want to leave you hanging for too long! Also, sorry for any glaring medical errors in this chapter or previous ones. I try to do my research but I'm not a medical professional so I inevitably muck things up. ;-) I am glad to learn from my mistakes, though, so please do tell me! Anyhoo, onward-- ENJOY! **

(8)

Italy

Italy –8 days ago

"_She has your eyes," Tony whispers in a tone that washes her with warmth. He lies across from Ziva on the bed; their heads are only inches apart on her pillow. He brushes some of her hair out of her face with the sweep of his hand. His eyes sparkle in the dim light. She smiles at him, amazed._

_A gurgle from the small bundle cocooned between them draws her attention away from him. An infant, swaddled in a colorful quilt, kicks her little feet under the fabric. Curious dark eyes blink in the dim light. Tiny pink fists reach up, grasping the air. Ziva runs her thumb over the impossibly soft skin and tiny fingers._

"_And your ears," Ziva murmurs as her fingers trace the delicate organs. Tony looks confused and feels his own ears for comparison. She chuckles. _

"_I didn't think we'd make it here." Tony is suddenly staring at her with eyes so serious they are the color of steel. She remembers that she isn't supposed to be here with him, with their child. She remembers that she is supposed to be in a hospital in Italy. She frowns. _

"_We are not here, Tony," she says, voice rising in panic. Their baby starts to fuss. Ziva places a calming hand on her daughter's body, her gaze never leaving the man beside her._

"_I am here, Ziva," Tony responds with a teasing smirk. His eyes flash aquamarine. She gasps. He leans forward, capturing her lips in his. Immediately lost to the startling sensation, Ziva forgets everything else. Nothing matters but this world in her embrace. _

_Her daughter begins to cry, but the sound echoes and disappears before she can respond. _

_She kisses Tony harder. She feels him beginning to fade away; panic seizes her chest. She lifts her hand from her daughter to clutch Tony's face to hers, keep him near. But it is no use…_

_The baby cries and cries, sounding farther and farther away. The warmth of Tony's skin slowly escapes her. Ziva doesn't know what to do._

"_Tony!" She screams when she suddenly finds herself alone in the bed. Cold fear grips her; she gropes for her child. She cannot find her. She screams again._

"_Tony!" _

_But now it is dark and she cannot find him. She cannot feel him near. She struggles to breathe. The darkness is closing in on her. Where is Tony? Where is their child? _

_The room floods with light. She squints her eyes against its brightness, struggling to see who has intruded in on her private space. _

_Her father._

"_Papa!" She sobs in relief; finally, someone to help her. She searches the sheets blindly for her daughter, tears clouding her vision. Lifting her empty hands to her face, she starts to shake when she finds them coated with blood. _

"_You are Mossad, Ziva. Never forget that." Her father slams the door shut, taking all the light with him. _

* * *

Ziva awakes with a start.

Taking deep gulps of air, she tries to slow her heart rate back to normal and ignore the pain in her chest.

It was just a dream.

Ziva takes another deep breath.

How the hell did she end up here?

She tries to push through the lingering fog in her brain. She thinks back to Greece, to Levi Yadin. He ambushed her. He was going to torture her, murder her. Ziva feels a wave of fury envelop her, the familiar taste for revenge rise in her throat.

_How secure is our national intelligence, really?_

Levi's words haunt her. She is not safe here. Levi wants her dead and it is only a matter of time before he tracks her down. From what she's been able to gather from hospital staff, she was rescued from the water shortly after she fell in. Levi and his men may have even seen it. (Perhaps not, if she's made it so long without being found.)

She needs to leave. She's already been too long here in Italy. She needs to get in contact with Mossad. But how? Levi made it clear he has contacts within the organization. And then there's the whole bit about her father assigning her to this mission in the first place—how much does he know? Any contact she makes, even with her father, is compromised. In her current condition, she's the walking dead if they decide to come after her.

When they decide to come after her.

She needs to get somewhere safe. Figure this out. Find a way to get word to her father, maybe even an explanation, reign in Yadin, and expose the leak in Mossad.

She pushes her throbbing head back into her pillow and closes her eyes.

_But what about the other thing…. complication? What are you going to do about that, Ziva?_

Ziva absently runs a hand over her stomach. It is still flat. Pregnant? How is it even possible? They used protection, which of course isn't fail proof, but still. It was just one night. This shouldn't happen. Not to her. Not to Tony. Not like this.

"Still in shock, huh?" Her nurse, Sarah is her name, tiptoes into the room.

Ziva lifts her eyebrows at her.

"I can tell. You have that look like your world has been flipped upside down," Sarah smiles as she checks over Ziva.

"It does not seem possible," Ziva sighs. A baby. She is going to be a mother, something she's rarely thought about before and never dwelled on. It was always something to be considered later. When she was ready. If she was ready. _One night with Tony DiNozzo really did change everything, didn't it? _

"Dr. Conti tells me that everything is looking good with both mom and baby," Sarah pats Ziva on the shoulder. "A few more days here and then you should be free."

_A few more days? That will not work._ Ziva scowls.

"Sophie?" Sarah says tentatively. Ziva tries not to smile at the use of her alias—it was the only name she could think of when asked as she went in and out of consciousness. "If there is something you want to talk to me about, I'd be happy to listen. I'm a good listener."

Ziva does have to smile at that. Sarah has proven herself quite the chatterbox. As if to prove the point, she keeps talking.

"I can tell from your reaction that this baby is a surprise. Let me tell you, I have been there before. Well, not me personally…I guess. Truth be told, I am the product of the free love era. My parents were at Berkley at the time; birth control was not on their list of priorities. My mom was so freaked out when she discovered she was pregnant that she stole her friend's van and nearly made it across the Mississippi River before my dad chased her down."

"Really?" Ziva can't help but chuckle, happy for the distraction from her own thoughts. Sarah laughs.

"I know; it's silly. But my mom loved to tell me that story. Mostly as a precautionary tale." Sarah winks. "My middle name is Moonbeam."

"That is nice things worked out for you and your parents," Ziva says honestly, imagining the family of hippies. She's not envisioning the same sunny outlook for herself. Images of her dream flutter across her mind.

"Yeah, it is. Not that it was all happily ever after. Mom died when I was six. My dad raised me after she passed and that meant carting me all over the world—he's an art history professor, you see. Originally from Nebraska, but we would really only spend one or two semesters there a year." Sarah drones on about her life story, her personal monologue rivaling something Ducky might tell. Ziva finds herself lulled into peace by the cadence of the friendly nurse's voice. She suspects the woman had been talking her ear off while she was unconscious and is now accustomed to narrating her visits. "I was that typical bohemian wild child; I thought I'd marry a drummer or something. But then I met Mat. He is an Italian Marine, for crying out loud. But, hey, you can't choose your soul mate!"

"No," Ziva smiles, thinking of Tony and how she never would've planned for a man like him to figure into her life. "No, you cannot." Then, thinking back on what Sarah said, she asks, "An Italian Marine?"

"The San Marco Regiment," Sarah answers. "They are based here in Brindisi. Why else do you think I'd be here?"

"I do not know," Ziva replies, amused. She watches Sarah flit about the room for a few minutes. Something about the woman is infinitely comforting. She finds herself speaking. "You know, I never thought that I would be a mother."

Sarah whips her head up, clearly intrigued. "No? But you seem so nice!"

Ziva smiles wearily. "Thank you. But where I grew up, the lifestyle I lead…neither are very safe environments for a child."

Sarah frowns. "All that can be changed though. We create our own destiny—my mom used to say that. Though, if this lifestyle is what landed you in this hospital then I would definitely recommend making some changes."

Sighing, Ziva toys with her blanket. "Yes, I know." _Is that even possible?_

Just then, another member of the hospital staff enters, wheeling a cart with him. Ziva tenses for a moment. But Sarah's happy squeal assures her that he is likely a familiar person.

"Sophie!" Sarah exclaims, giving her hand a squeeze, "it's time for you to get your first look at your baby!"

* * *

A half an hour later, Ziva sits and stares at the photo in front of her. The first snapshot of her baby. She traces the black and white image with her finger. It is blurry, but there she sees a definitive profile of her baby's face.

She's having a baby.

The obstetrician, in her accented English, was sure to tell her repeatedly what a miracle it is that her baby survived her attack and subsequent dip in the sea. Ziva wanted to tell her that she hasn't even heard the half of it. Her mind traces back through all the physical altercations she's been in over the past couple of months. The doctor was right.

Her baby is a fighter.

It makes her smile.

A baby. Is it even possible? Imagining a child of her own, Ziva's mind won't let her escape all of the death and bloodshed in her life. All of the ways in which things can go horribly, devastatingly wrong—Tali's death, her father's controlling hand, the death of her mother, Ari, all the mothers and fathers and children who've found themselves on Ducky's tables, Gibbs' own tragic past, and the list goes on…

Can she really do this? Is it fair to bring new life into this mess? If she's even alive in a week, it will be a miracle. But having the capability to raise a child? If this were any other time in her life, any other circumstance…any other _father_, the choice might be easier, different. _An occupational hazard_, her own voice taunts from the past.

Ziva is accustomed to living with the consequences of split second decisions and trusting her own instincts. This one though… Her one night with Tony is proving to have severe and rippling consequences. Would she have made love to Tony that night if she knew this is what would happen? She thinks of how much she misses her former partner now, how maybe if they had never crossed the line between them she would not be stuck in a foreign hospital bed thinking these thoughts. If she never gave in to her feelings for Tony, if she'd kept them locked away like she was so used to doing, she would not be experiencing all this anguish and longing now.

Can she regret it?

Her hand rests low on her stomach, on the life growing inside.

Somehow, none of that matters now. It doesn't matter if this was her choice or not—like so many things in her life, the choice was thrust upon her. But this time, that's okay. She doesn't want to fight it; she wants to travel this path.

She is going to be a mother.

She considers the photo. Her baby. Tony's baby.

A wave of fierce determination sweeps over her.

No, she has no choice but to fix this mess and get back to Tony.

There is no other option now.

Before, it was different. Her life seemed on a downward spiral, out of her control. But now she has one clear mission, one definite purpose, and she is taking control of this situation.

She will make it out alive.

_I am going to be a mother. Tony is going to be a father. _

Her mind spins as her world reorders itself.

_I can do this. But can Tony?_

She imagines the look on Tony's face when he finds out—a comic state of confusion, she is sure. But then what? Will he be happy? Scared? Panicked? Excited? She is still trying to adjust to the idea and she's not the commitment-phobe Tony is. Tony might take longer to warm to the idea. Still, she has a feeling, a Gibbs gut-like feeling, that he will eventually get used to the concept of being a father. _Or I will kick his ass._

A sharp pain in her chest reminds her how much she misses him.

Ziva's eyes shift over to the small window in her room. She cannot stay here much longer. Already, it's been several days. The doctors have essentially cleared her medically and though they advise that she stay longer for observation, that is not an order she can follow. It's time to move. She can't risk being found.

Not until she finds them first.

_You can do this, Ziva. You are a fighter. _

"Ziva?"

Ziva looks up in alarm at the sound of her real name. Sarah is standing at the door to her room, her face ghostly white. She is holding up a newspaper in her hands.

From several feet away, Ziva can make out the headline on the Italian paper:

CAPTURED! DAUGHTER OF MOSSAD DIRECTOR

Her heart monitor goes crazy.

* * *

**Let me know what you thought-- I kept writing and rewriting Ziva's thoughts, but then I just had to let go. She, of course, had to deal with these new developments before we can move forward...which we will be doing. Soon. ;-)**


	9. Italy DC Rome

**...and I'm back! I was saving this for tomorrow, but I'm nursing a bad hangover from last night so I really have nothing better to do this Saturday night. Boo. I remember fondly the days not so long ago when I could drink whatever without consequence. Apparently, once you hit a certain age, that is no longer true! But I digress. I apologize for the short chapter, but it just worked out so well to end it here. I will try to post the next couple parts every day or two because they are more action-y and we all know where we want this story to head...so might as well get the action moving along, eh? ;-) Thanks again to all who read and review-- you rock! **

(9)

Italy – D.C. – Rome

_Italy – 7 days ago_

"Give me that!" Ziva demands after she's taken a moment to breathe.

Sarah scurries to her side, stunned. She hands her the newspaper. "So you are her…"

"Yes," Ziva snaps, trying to decipher the Italian. It is today's paper. "Tell me what this says."

"Okay…um…" Sarah reads over her shoulder. "It says that an Israeli news station broadcast a clip of the Director of Mossad's daughter…um, you…being held hostage. It says that they, whoever this group is, are demanding your father resign in exchange for your safe return. Or else they will kill you and release sensitive intelligence information to the public."

Ziva frowns. "But that is ridiculous," she muses out loud. "They do not have me. And Levi does not want just my father's resignation—he wants to destroy him, and Mossad. He is out for revenge; he has nothing to gain. My father's resignation will not appease him; my father would never resign!"

Sarah's eyes widen. Ziva winces, "I have said too much."

"No, no," Sarah replies. "I'm just a little…confused.

"As am I," Ziva mutters, starting to pull at the various tubes and wires still attached to her. Sarah rushes to help her. "Does anyone else know who I am?"

Sarah shakes her head quickly, cursing as she fumbles with an IV line.

"Good," Ziva replies. She places a hand on Sarah's arm, stopping her movements. She levels the nurse with a serious look. "They must not know, Sarah."

Sarah nods. "Yes, Soph—I mean, Zi—I mean, _Sophie_."

Ziva gives the rattled woman an encouraging smile. "Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate your kindness. And now—is there any way you can help me get out of here?"

Sarah hesitates for a moment. Ziva watches fear play across her features. Her eyes fall to the ultra sound photo Ziva has propped on her nightstand.

"The baby's father works for the U.S. Navy," Ziva whispers, catching Sarah's gaze. "I worked there for three years; we were partners. He is arrogant, goofy, immature, and can be dense as a post. But…"

"He's everything you never knew you wanted," Sarah finishes in a whisper.

"Yes," Ziva affirms, her voice thick with tears that will not be shed. "Please help me, Sarah."

After considering her for a moment, a smile blooms on Sarah's face and a wicked gleam sparks in her eye. "Tell me what to do."

* * *

_D.C. – 7 days ago_

"Sir! Sir!" Agent Lee sprints into the squad room, waving a folder in her hands.

Gibbs glances up from his coffee and rolls his eyes. "Lee, what have I told you about calling me sir?"

The young agent comes to a halt in front of his desk, panting for breath. "It's…did…you…see…. Ziva?"

Unable to decipher Lee's words, Gibbs grabs the folder in her hands. A quick look is all he needs to send his blood pressure through the roof.

"Keating!" He barks, "ZNN on the plasma, NOW!"

Startled, Keating fumbles to obey. Langer sits up from where he had been lounging in his seat, awaiting an order.

The plasma clicks on, ZNN rolling the headline—"Daughter of Israeli Intelligence Director Held Hostage. President to comment soon on US response." A loop of Levi's video plays on the screen—Ziva, struggling at knifepoint, with Levi's voice making his list of demands in Hebrew.

"Dammit!" Gibbs slams his coffee into the trashcan. Lee jumps. The new agents are all stunned by the panic on their boss' features.

"Boss, did you see?" McGee comes charging into the bullpen. Seeing the image on the plasma, his face goes white. "I can't believe…" He watches the screen for a moment, a steely resolve settling onto his features. "What do you need me to do?"

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Abby's high-pitched squeal fills the room. Gibbs' expression gets even darker as the sobbing scientist launches herself into his arms. "Are we going to save her?"

Gibbs pats her back, eyeing all of his agents in turn, "We will do what we can."

McGee nods, pleased. The other agents exchange worried looks.

Then, a loud cry from Abby draws all their attention, "Oh no, Gibbs. Who is going to tell Tony?"

* * *

_Rome – 7 days ago_

As the train lumbers into the station, Ziva is the first one off.

The ride was long and she is beyond exhausted, but she has to keep moving.

Her eyes scan the station, searching the sea of faces for anyone suspicious. She sees her face splashed on the cover of all the newspapers. Not her most flattering picture, but with the way the wind was whipping her hair around, her features remain quite hidden which is good for her. Sarah was kind enough to supply her with clothing. It's a little big as Sarah has more of a curvy build than Ziva, but it suffices. Ziva has a San Marco Regiment ballcap pulled down low over her eyes; it will have to hide her face for now.

Ducking her head, Ziva begins to move through the station. Discretely lifting a guidebook of Rome from a newsstand, she tucks in into her jacket for future reference. An intense determination has set in, unlike anything she's ever experienced before. She will survive this. Despite her injuries and lingering fatigue, she feels stronger than she's ever felt before. She's ready to fight.

Darting through the crowded train station, Ziva seeks an exit. She follows a clump of commuters out the doors of the station onto a crowded street. No one seems to be following her. Yet. She picks up her pace, putting distance between herself and the train station. A few twists and turns to her route and suddenly she finds herself on a narrow cobblestone street. Her eyes light on a café tucked into a bend in the road. Its sign is old and faded, unwelcoming. A perfect place to make the call.

But first, she steps into the alley and waits for a few moments. No sign of a tail yet, but she can't be too careful now. She glances at the café, feeling suddenly nervous. This phone call will change everything. It goes against everything she's been trained to do. Not exactly Mossad protocol. But it is her only hope. For her. For her child.

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm the rising panic within her, Ziva heads for the café.

She has a phone call to make.

A few tense minutes later, she has Gibbs on the line.

"Gibbs." The hysteria is evident in her voice. "I need your help."


	10. DC Rome DC Pacific

**All right, everyone-- here is more like I promised! I have to say, I don't think I have a future in either crime fiction or criminal masterminding. The action and plot-y stuff really trips me up. I have all the emotionally driven scenes for this totally written; it's writing and editing these little plot buggers that is killing me! So, I will stop tinkering and move on so we can get going on this! More AN at the bottom if you are so inclined. Otherwise, enjoy! :-)**

**Also, I realize my Tony has a filthy mouth. But that's why we love him right? *zing* Yeah. So, if you're offended by swearing...I'll double check my rating but I think I'm good. You've been warned again! ;-)**

(10)

D.C. – Rome -- D.C. -- Pacific

_D.C. – 7 days ago_

"Gibbs." The hysteria was evident in her voice. "I need your help."

The phone call had come after he'd ordered his team to gather all the information they could find on Ziva's capture.

On his way up to the Director's office to grease Vance for information, Gibbs' cell phone had rung. When the operator had informed him of a collect call from Ziva, he had felt something akin to relief. Hostages do not make collect calls. Still, that did not explain what the hell was going on.

"Tell me what you need." Gibbs keeps his voice low as he ducks into the corridor under the stairs.

"I was undercover in Greece," Ziva begins to fill him in on the events leading up to her supposed capture, "investigating Levi Yadin, a former Mossad agent, who was rumored to be selling state secrets. He made me. How he got access to top-secret information, I do not know. He ambushed me with two other men. I do not know their names but they are not likely Mossad. Levi's daughter was IDF and Mossad, killed on a mission. He blames my father. He wants him out of Mossad, wants me dead for revenge."

Gibbs commits all the information to memory. "And you escaped?" _And just how in the hell did you get put in Yadin's path to begin with?_

Ziva sighs. "They never captured me in the first place. The video you see ends too quickly. I fought back, though a bad blow made me fall into the sea. Until earlier today, I was in a hospital in Italy."

"Are you—?

"I am fine," Ziva responds shortly. Gibbs can read the exhaustion in her voice. "I'm on the run now. You are my first and only contact."

Gibbs is grateful for that. Without knowing how deep Yadin's connections in Mossad are, or who the leak is, any information Ziva gives to Mossad is compromised. Various scenarios run through Gibbs' mind; he tries to see the big picture. "Yadin is taking a big risk with his lie. It wouldn't be long before Mossad learned the truth, regardless of if you were alive or dead. Yadin has no power of negotiation. What does Yadin have to gain through all of this?"

"Yadin does not want to gain anything," Ziva says simply. "Any way this turns out, he embarrasses Mossad and my father. If I am already dead, it saves him the trouble. If I am alive, my identity is compromised; my career with Mossad is over now. My father's leadership has been put into question. The organization has a leak that compromises its agents."

Gibbs looks skyward, exasperated. The problem with criminals bent on revenge is that logic doesn't always rule the day.

Ziva is right. Every dingbat with a thirst for revenge against Eli David now knows who his daughter is. If he were Yadin, he'd have a hit out on his target. Anything to cause mass destruction and confusion. But, in the meantime, Eli still does not know Ziva is not being held hostage; the ramifications for Mossad must be considered. "Eli will not resign."

Ziva's bitter laugh echoes over the line. "Not likely."

Shaking his head, Gibbs paces the corridor. "He just lets Yadin kill you."

"It is what he would do for any other agent." He can picture the icy look on Ziva's face.

"Yeah, well, you're not just any other agent to me, Ziver," Gibbs responds. He resists the urge to smack a nearby wall. How could Eli David let his daughter, or any of his agents, get into this mess in the first place? Clearly, he has to be the one to bail her out. There is no other option.

Ziva's smile is evident in her voice. "Thank you, Gibbs."

Gibbs wastes no more time. A plan has already formed in his head. Well, a partial plan. Sort of. "Watch your back, Ziva. You get somewhere safe and stay put. You're our hostage now, got it? Speak with no one but me."

"Yes, Boss," Ziva agrees.

"Now get moving!" He orders, and is about to snap his phone shut when Ziva's voice comes over the line again.

"Wait!"

Gibbs hesitates. They have already been on the line too long. "What?"

"Gibbs," Ziva begins, voice unsure. "There is a complication you should know about."

Frowning, Gibbs rubs his temple. "Spill it."

"I was not sure if I should tell you…but I think you need to know, just in case…if something happens…" He's never heard Ziva so unconfident before. It's unnerving.

"Ziva," he warns.

"I'm pregnant."

Gibbs feels all the air rush out of his lungs. He blinks. "That's a hell of a complication."

"Yes, I know," Ziva sighs, frustrated. But there is something else there—happiness? "It was not planned, obviously."

Gibbs glances around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. This changes everything. His mind runs back through Ziva's words—there was a fight, and something about being thrown into the sea, and a hospital? Is the baby okay? Ziva? Will they _be _okay? And who knows about the pregnancy? How long? Who's the father? Does he know? Does that make matters worse for Ziva?

All these questions swirl through his mind; he wishes he had the time to interrogate his former agent. He settles for one question. The one question that will provide him with enough information to know what he's working with here.

"Ziva, I need to know," Gibbs sighs, picturing Ziva on the run, pregnant and alone. She's one of the strongest people he's ever encountered, but everyone has their breaking point. "The father?"

Ziva pauses a long second. When she finally answers, her voice is full of emotion. "He is currently on a ship in the Pacific."

Gibbs exhales into the phone. Dammit. He rubs his temple trying to fend off a rapidly forming headache. "DiNozzo?" He can't hide the disbelief in his tone; he swears he can hear Tony's chuckle in the back of his head. The damn rules exist for a reason!

"He doesn't know, Gibbs." Ziva rushes to defend her former partner, the father of her child. When he gets his hands on that kid…

"I would imagine not, seeing as how he hasn't commandeered the _USS Seahawk_ yet." Gibbs shakes his head. Things just got a hell of a lot more interesting. Too interesting for his tastes.

Ziva chuckles. "True." Then, more seriously, she adds, "Listen, Gibbs, it was a one-time thing…the night before he left…"

"I really don't need details," Gibbs barks, but there is an edge of softness to his voice. Leave it to DiNozzo to add this layer of drama to their lives. _That damn kid never could follow an order._

"I would prefer to be the one to tell him," Ziva says in a tired voice that manages to find its way straight to his heart.

"Fine," he replies tersely. "Now get your ass moving, David."

He hangs up the phone before she can respond. He has work to do.

_Can't these people ever keep themselves out of trouble?_

* * *

_Rome – 7 days ago_

Ziva hangs up the phone and glances around. No one pays her any attention. Securing her hat, she takes off.

* * *

_D.C. – 7 days ago_

Gibbs bypasses the Director's office for the moment and heads back to the bullpen. His new team looks up at him, eager.

"I want everything you can find on Ziva's case! Everything!" He snaps, and they scurry back to work.

"Keating," he barks, and the doughy agent whips his head up. "Call McGee, tell him to meet me in Abby's lab now."

Nodding, Keating picks up the phone.

"Lee! Same message to Ducky." Lee rushes to comply.

Langer stands up. "Gibbs?"

"Brief me in twenty minutes!" He yells and heads down to the lab.

*

Abby, Ducky, and McGee are already in the lab when he arrives. Abby stares at her monitor, typing slowly on her keyboard, a steady stream of tears falling from her eyes. McGee is at her side, rubbing her back.

"Jethro?" Ducky asks softly from where he leans on a table, "Any news?"

"Yes," he responds and all three of his team members look at him anxiously. "Ziva called me."

Not waiting for their questions, though they are immediately apparent in their wide eyes, Gibbs plows ahead and fills them in on the latest information. It sparks them into action; Abby is furiously typing now.

"I'm going to Vance," he reveals. "I want everything you can get on Ziva and Yadin."

He doesn't wait for their response. He wouldn't get one. They are already busy working.

*

"What are you doing to get her back?" Gibbs demands, storming into Vance's office. The Director lifts his head from the file he's studying to regard Gibbs.

"I don't recall hearing a knock," Vance snits, slamming the file shut.

"And I seem to recall my agent being safe and alive at NCIS until her position was terminated!" Gibbs' voice remains level though his tone belies his anger.

Vance sighs and reclines in his chair. "Mossad posts aren't exactly a trip to Disneyworld."

"What are you doing to get her back?" Gibbs reiterates, spitting out each syllable.

Vance shrugs. "Officer David is not my problem any longer, Agent Gibbs. I am very sorry she's found herself in trouble; she was a good agent. But NCIS has no jurisdiction on this case. Mossad is handling it; if they want help, they can ask."

"I'm asking!"

"Jethro…" Vance leans forward again, trying to look sympathetic. "I know you must be worried, but really, there is nothing we can do."

"Not an acceptable answer, Leon," Gibbs stares at the man, watching as he flounders under the blatant disrespect. Switching gears for a moment, Gibbs tries to broach the subject from a place not formed of anger and frustration; it is difficult. "Ziva called me for help."

Vance's eyes go wide; all previous annoyance is wiped away. "But…how?"

Glad to finally have the man's attention, Gibbs fills him in on the pertinent details.

"Wow," Vance lets out a low whistle. Gibbs feels the tension in the room ratchet down a notch.

"You'll help?" Gibbs asks.

Vance nods slowly, his posture improving. "I say this has escalated into a larger situation. Mossad intelligence is compromised. We've got a chance to save an agent. I'd expect assistance from the outside if the same case were true for us."

Gibbs resists the urge to roll his eyes. Damn politicians.

"I have a comfortable relationship with Eli David. I will contact him through alternate channels, inform him of the security breach and that we will be bringing his daughter in safely." Vance jots a few notes down and reaches for his phone.

"One more thing," Gibbs cuts in. Vance looks incredulous. "When we bring Ziva home, she's back on the team."

Vance opens his mouth to protest.

"This is not up for debate, Leon," Gibbs says firmly. "I'm sure her father won't object to the assignment after this mess. She's now a walking target for anyone with a bone to pick with Mossad. She's back on the team, safe here in the U.S., or I'm resigning, simple as that."

Vance snorts, "Then I suppose you'll be wanting the rest of them back as well?"

With a shrug, Gibbs folds his arms across his chest. "I don't know. You tell me. Think those probies down there will work well with a trained assassin?"

"You are a piece of work, Jethro," Vance shakes his head with a wry grin.

"So I've been told," Gibbs deadpans. "My team?"

"Bring Ziva home and we'll talk." Vance picks up his phone again, effectively dismissing Gibbs.

"I'm on it, Director," Gibbs snipes, gliding out of the office.

* * *

_Pacific Ocean – 7 days ago_

He barely registers it at first. Eating at his table of one in the mess, he's more concentrated on determining exactly what type of meat is on his sandwich than listening to the day's news as filtered by the U.S. Navy.

A stray phrase catches his ear: "…daughter of Mossad Director…"

And that's all it takes.

He drops his lunch, rockets out of his seat, and sprints to the nearest TV.

The image he sees on the screen makes his blood run cold.

His hearing cuts out, his vision tunnels, and all he can see is Ziva being held at knifepoint by a scumbag with a death wish. Through the distorted image and the hair that whips across her face, he can barely make out her features but there is no fear in her eyes-- only grim determination. The blade of the knife presses tightly against her caramel skin; a trickle of blood oozes down the smooth column of her neck.

Tony's fists clench.

Fighting the urge to punch someone, he instead takes off in a dead run towards his office. "Make a hole!" He bellows as he dodges sailors in the hallways of the ship. At one point he slams his elbow hard into a metal pole, but hardly notices.

Back in his office, he lunges for the phone. He starts yelling as soon as the phone stops ringing.

"Get me the fuck off of this ship, Gibbs, or I swear to God I'm starting to swim."

"Not a good idea, DiNozzo," Gibbs responds calmly. This only irritates Tony more. He starts mentally drafting his letter of resignation.

"Boss!" He starts throwing his belongings into his duffel. He'll hijack the damn ship if he has to.

"I am working on it, Tony," Gibbs punches out each word with no shortage of impatience. "But I need you to trust me for now and not waste my time whining about your assignment."

Something about his tone says there's more to the story than he's letting on; it stops Tony dead in his tracks. _What the hell isn't he telling me?_ Tony sinks into his chair, defeated. The voice of Gibbs has spoken. "I trust you, Gibbs," he mumbles. It's true, but he doesn't have to like it. He kicks the wall. Hard.

"Then sit tight," Gibbs pauses. Tony can hear him riffling through some papers. "I need to focus on Ziva, not worry about you drowning in the ocean. You pull something stupid, DiNozzo, and I will let you rot on that ship. Got it?"

"Yeah, okay." Tony agrees, though his mind is still cycling through potential escape routes.

"Good." Then, after a long moment where Tony is quite sure Gibbs has already hung up on him, his boss adds, "And keep your ass out of the jets. They don't fly all by themselves like they do in the movies."

Gibbs hangs up.

Tony stares at the phone for a moment. Huh. He hadn't thought of that one yet.

Then, when he sees Ziva at knifepoint again in his mind, he lets out a frustrated shout and dumps the entire contents of his desk onto the floor.

"Dammit, Ziva!" He bellows, fixing his photos of her with an angry glare. "I thought I asked you to stay out of trouble!"

Unsurprisingly, she does not respond.

* * *

**AN2: Oookay. What'd you think? I wrote and rewrote this so many times I could scream. Gibbs is a tough cookie to crack, let me tell ya. I much prefer Tony and Ziva! ;-) Also-- I will mention these nitpicks now just so you all realize I am aware of them! 1) Not sure how the news/TV situation would work on the ship, so I just made something up. It's more difficult than you would think to find information about that online! 2) I realize we have some major time different issues at play here, but so we all don't go crazy with my timeline tags, I stuck to a unified time line for sanity's sake. Obviously, people might be ahead or behind one another but to keep things manageable I stuck with the single "time zone" thing. So...now that I've clearly expressed all my insecurities, stay tuned for more! ;-) We're inching ever close to the inevitable reunion scene....ahhhh...what will that be like?!?! ;-) **


	11. DC Rome Pacific DC

**You guys are lucky-- originally this was two chapters but I've decided to post it as one. I hope you don't mind. ;-) Thanks again to all of those who are reading and reviewing! It keeps me sane! This is yet another action-y chapter, but we're getting close to more emotional scenes so no worries. I realize I've had our beloved Abby do something that is probably not even possible, and very definitely not ethical or legal, but I'm just going to ask you to roll with it. It's not like everything our agents do on the show is on the up and up anyhow. Oh well. Now that I've officially spoiled this, enough from me-- ENJOY!**

(11)

D.C. - Rome -- Pacific – D.C.

_D.C. – 7 days ago_

"Okay, here's everything I could find on Yadin and his sidekicks," McGee calls out as he returns to Abby's lab. He's carrying his laptop, trying to type and walk at the same time.

Abby and Ducky are huddled around her computer, scanning the monitor.

"Good work, McGee!" Abby does her best Gibbs imitation. Then, spinning on the spot, she beckons him over to check out her work. With a few quick keystrokes, a world map pops up on the screen. "Here's what we got. So…Gibbs said that Ziva was on a mission in Greece, fell into the sea, and wound up in an Italian hospital. Hours later, she ends up in Rome, where she made the call to our esteemed leader."

As Abby speaks, various dots pop up on the map. "Using that data to triangulate Ziva's location, searching records on various Jane Does that have popped up in hospitals, we came up with…. nothing."

McGee frowns.

"But don't fret, dear Timothy!" Ducky jumps to say. "Our Abby is better than that!"

"Right-o!" Abby beams, then taps a few more keys. "Extending our search to all female victims of near-drowning, we are left with few options. Exactly one option, actually. Behold!"

Ziva's hospital record pops up on the screen.

"And guess what name our sneaky little Israeli gave to hospital staff?" Abby bounces in her platforms. McGee just shrugs. "Sophie Ranier!"

Realization dawns on McGee. He smiles. Ducky chuckles. "Of course! The name of the deceased assassin from Montreal! How could I forget?"

"I wish I could forget," McGee shudders. "Those images of Tony and Ziva are unfortunately burned on my brain."

"Aww, Timmy," Abby swats him on the arm, "I thought they were cute. In retrospect, of course, I wasn't too fond of Ziva back then. But now back to Sophie-slash-Ziva's medical records."

McGee scans the file, impressed. "How did you manage to access Italian hospital records?"

Abby just bats her eyelashes at him. "A lady never reveals her secrets. But that's as far as we got before you returned. Ducky was just going to interpret the records for us."

"Yes, yes," Ducky murmurs as he scans Ziva's file. "I'm afraid the translation from Italian to English is leaving a lot to be desired and…. oh dear."

"Ducky?" McGee moves to stand beside Abby, who has closed her eyes in anticipation of horrible news.

"Perhaps we have the wrong file after all," Ducky says, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Because if not, Ziva has a lot more in common with Sophie Ranier than we previously thought. I'm afraid our wayward friend is pregnant."

McGee's mouth drops open. "Ziva's _pregnant_?"

A wicked grin crosses Abby's face. "Mazal tov, Ziva!"

Ducky laughs. "Well, I suppose from every dark cloud must shine some silver lining. And it appears this is silver lining, indeed. Despite Ziva's unfortunate trip into the sea, both mother and child appear to be relatively healthy."

Abby squints to read the news herself. "Who do you think the father is?"

"I don't know," McGee shakes his head. "But whoever it is, we're never going to hear the end of it from Tony."

"Tony!" Abby screeches, running over to her wall of memories. She plucks a photo of Tony and Ziva from the display. Then, she turns back to her lab mates with a quirked eyebrow. "Do you guys think…?"

"Hmm," Ducky considers the possibility. "The records estimate the pregnancy to be about 10 weeks along…"

McGee scratches his chin. "It fits then. That's right about the time that Jenny died."

"Oh, you naughty kids!" Abby wags her finger at her photo of Tony and Ziva. "Either you were knocking boots in sunny L.A. or else decided to finally give in to all that pent up sexual tension between you two on the last night you were together. I bet that's it. One last night together, no use in pretending any longer, defenses come down, clothing comes off…" Abby fans herself with the photo, sighing.

"I could really do without that last image, Abs," Gibbs scolds as he strides into the lab.

"Gibbs!" McGee startles. "I've got the dossier on Levi Yadin. And Abby found Ziva's medical records. Did you know that—

"Ziva's pregnant. Yes, I know, McGee," Gibbs says coolly, studying the information on McGee's laptop.

The rest of the team exchanges looks, slightly disappointed that the bomb had already been dropped.

"Well, Gibbs," Abby continues, a challenge in her eyes. "Did you also know that—

"Tony's the father. Yes, I _know_, Abs." Gibbs takes a sip of his coffee, still reading McGee's information.

Confirmation of what she had suspected sends Abby dancing around the lab. "I'm going to be Auntie Abby!" She celebrates with a fist pump. McGee watches her, perplexed. Ducky just smiles.

"All right, all right," Gibbs admonishes, finally glancing up at his team with a dark look on his face, "that's enough. There's nothing to celebrate yet. Time to get back to work."

"Yes, sir!" Abby salutes, though the grin doesn't leave her face, and begins to fill Gibbs in on what they found.

* * *

_Rome – 7 days ago_

Ziva glances down one more time at the address she has written on the slip of paper. This is it.

Ringing the bell, Ziva steps into the shadow of the doorway. The street is nearly empty; it is late at night.

"Can I help you?" A man answers the door in his pajamas, speaking Italian.

"Yes," Ziva begins in English. She's always hesitant to trust strangers…but she's hoping this one will be worth the gamble. "Professor Watkins? Your daughter sent me here."

Realization dawns on the man's face. "You must be Sophie."

Ziva gives him a tight smile. "Yes."

"Then do come in," he steps back to allow her entry. With one more glance around, she moves into the small corridor. In the increased light, the professor gives her a double take. Ziva knows she must look a mess—the bandages on her skull are barely concealed by her cap, then there's the cut on her neck.

Professor Watkins offers her an encouraging smile; he reminds her of Ducky a little bit, with his fluttered movements and kind eyes. He leads her into his small flat, offers her some tea.

"Sarah always did like to take in stray pets," he says with a wink as he fixes her some food. Ziva is grateful for the cozy chair and hot tea he has provided. It feels good to stop for a moment, feel safe. Not that she's let her guard down completely; her eyes still scan her environment every few seconds, looking for anything suspicious.

Ziva clears her throat. "She said you would be able to help me. I need to get to Marseilles." Off his curious look, she rushes to add, "I have family there. I have no money or documents with me now, but I would be able to repay you shortly."

"Well," Professor Watkins thinks aloud as he plates the food he has warmed up. "That is quite a request. I thought you just needed a place to sleep tonight."

Ziva takes a deep breath. "That too." She glances around the apartment; her eyes come to rest on a familiar book. She places her tea on a side table and goes to pick it up. "_Deep Six_," she smiles. "Are you a fan?"

Professor Watkins laughs. "Unfortunately, yes. Thom Gemcity has the knack for thrilling plots, my weakness."

"Thom just happens to be a close friend of mine," Ziva smiles. "His true name is Timothy McGee. I could arrange for you to speak with him, once I return home."

The professor's eyes light up. "Really? You know him?"

Ziva chuckles. "Let's just say that I inspired one of his characters."

"Officer Lisa?" The man squeaks, looking at her with a newfound appreciation.

Ziva gives him a sly look, reeling him in. "I would be happy to fill you in on all the details en route to Marseilles."

Professor Watkins hands her a plate of steaming food. "You, my dear, have yourself a deal. I've been meaning to take a road trip for some time now, anyhow. I have good friends in Nice that I'd like to see."

"You are as kind as your daughter assured me you would be," Ziva replies with a warm smile. Then, she winks at him, "and it just so happens I am an excellent driver!"

* * *

_Pacific – 5 days ago_

"I swear I won't do it again!" The Petty Officer is practically sobbing in Tony's office.

"You sure as hell won't," Tony agrees, slamming his chair into his desk. The young man he's interviewing winces. "Now get out of my sight!"

The Petty Office rushes out the door. But not before he sees the photos of Ziva Tony has pinned up on his bulletin board. He comes to a screeching halt, drooling at the images. "Woah. Who is that? Your girlfriend?"

"She is someone who would pull your spleen out through your ear canal if she knew you were even thinking about her," Tony warns, shooting daggers with his eyes.

"Well, then, why do you have her pictures on your wall?"

Tony glowers at the pimple-faced runt. "Get. Out. Of. Here."

The young man's eyes go wide and he scrambles out the door.

Once he's gone, Tony reaches for his computer. Pulling up every news site he can think of, plus his email accounts, he searches for any news he can find about Ziva. Nothing. The press hasn't reported anything new in the last two days; just that Mossad is keeping silent on their investigation. _Shocking!_ No one from NCIS has felt the need to cut him in either, which is infuriating, but makes him hope that they are too busy working on getting Ziva back. He supposes he can live with that. For now.

He lets out a frustrated scream. Someone in the office next door bangs on the wall in response. He flips them off.

With a sigh, he turns back to his desk. Opening the word processor on his computer, he pulls up the latest threat assessment he's been working on. At the rate he's going, he will finish up all his assignments in a fraction of the time. He's really okay with that.

After one last glare at the silent phone, Tony begins typing. Anything to forget.

_Right, like I could ever forget. _

* * *

_D.C. – 5 days ago_

"Is your communication secure?" This is the first thing that Vance asks when Eli David's face fills the screen at MTAC. Vance and Gibbs have the room to themselves and were waiting for the Director of Mossad to make contact.

"Yes. I assure you, Director, this is as secure as we can be," Eli is seated in what looks to be a dark conference room. The man looks haggard, older than he did the last time Gibbs spoke to him in this manner. Of course, his daughter is still missing in action. Even hardened Mossad killers are likely to feel the effects of that.

"Any new information on your leak?" Vance paces the floor in front of the screen. Gibbs is sipping a coffee in one of the nearby chairs.

Eli sighs. "I have my best people on it, so far we have not been able to pinpoint where Yadin was getting his information from or how he discovered her identity. Ziva's mission was top secret; in fact, I'm the only one who knew what agent was assigned to his case."

"How opportune," Gibbs interjects.

Anger flashes across Eli's face at the implication. "You think I set my daughter up to get attacked?"

"I think you knew Yadin was looking to get back at Mossad. You also knew that his daughter was killed in the line of duty. It's not a big leap of logic to assume that his treason might be fueled by something bigger than greed." Gibbs speaks calmly even as it's clear Eli David's hackles have been raised.

"Agent Gibbs," he responds tersely, "death is a daily presence in this great nation. If every individual were fueled by revenge, Israel would crumble under the weight of its people's grief."

"I'm not talking about every person," Gibbs replies, his voice even. "I'm talking about Yadin and how you should've considered the motivations for his crime and that perhaps the situation was too risky for your daughter to be assigned to it."

Eli's eyes go cold. "Are you questioning my judgment, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs says nothing, just takes a sip of coffee.

Vance looks quickly between the two men and rushes to smooth things over.

"I assure you, Director David," Vance shoots a warning look at Gibbs, "my agent is not questioning your judgment. He is merely concerned for Ziva's safety."

Gibbs just raises an eyebrow at the camera.

"Have you received any further word from her?" Eli adjusts his glasses as he stares into the camera.

"We're waiting for word on an extraction point and we will move forward from there," Vance answers.

"I have every resource at my disposal on the hunt for Yadin and his men," Eli assures. "He seems to be laying low for now."

"He knows that we know he doesn't have Ziva," Gibbs finally speaks.

Eli sighs. "He has put a hit out on her. He's made no attempts to hide that."

The lines on Gibbs' face grow deeper. Vance, too, frowns. "Ziva is a good agent. She knows how to watch out for herself."

A sad grin flashes across Eli's face. "Yes, I know. I've trained her well."

"That you have," Gibbs responds, no shortage of accusation in his voice. Eli just looks away from the camera. "Let's go over the next phase of the plan."

Eli nods tiredly and the three men begin plotting their next step.

A few minutes later, goodbyes are said to Eli. Gibbs and Vance are left standing in a now dark MTAC.

"Think this'll work, Gibbs?" Vance asks as he gathers up a few papers.

"Hope so, Leon." Gibbs is still staring at the blank screen. "I expect to hear from Ziva soon."

Vance pauses and studies his star agent. After a long moment, he grins and shakes his head. "You know, Jethro, I've been fielding calls all morning from the Commander of the _Seahawk_. Apparently their Agent Afloat has become quite the problem child. He's gone and solved all the open cases on the ship in two days."

Gibbs smirks and sips his coffee. "DiNozzo's a pretty good investigator."

"He's also managed to get a record number of complaints filed against him in the past 48 hours." Vance levels his agent with a look.

That wipes the smirk off of Gibbs' face, but only because he knows that's the reaction Vance wants. "Is that so?"

"Uh huh," Vance responds. "The Commander is requesting he be reassigned ASAP or face disciplinary measures."

"How very judicious of him to give you a choice."

"Yes, Commander Higgins is a fair man. He spoke highly of Agent DiNozzo's work until recently." Vance unwraps a toothpick and sticks it in his mouth.

"You know," Gibbs says as if he just thought of the idea, "I will be needing some tactical support when I go to extract Officer David. Sounds like job for someone with DiNozzo's qualifications. I'm sure he also has a vested interest in seeing Officer David return safely. They were partners after all."

Vance shakes his head. "I'm well aware of that. And it's the only reason I will let him accompany you instead of reassigning Tony to another ship. How he's managed to avoid his duties afloat for this long is beyond me."

Gibbs just looks at his boss. "Trust me, Leon. If I had to be in a confined space for any length of time with DiNozzo, I'd be lodging complaints too."

That earns a laugh from Vance. "Yes, I can see where it might be problematic. Consider this a temporary move. After this mess is cleaned up, I'll re-evaluate the situation."

Gibbs heads to the door without looking at his superior, "That's all I ask, Vance."

Outside of MTAC, he allows himself a small grin. _Well, that's two down. One to go._

**As a heads up, I am going to try my best to post the next part on either Friday or Saturday, but I've just made plans to road trip with friends to Detroit this weekend to catch a Red Wings playoff game (wooot!) so depending on how much time my parents decide to spend with me on one of my rare visits home (awww), that might affect the update time line. I will try my best though! I really want to get this moving. Not to spoil anything, but are people seriously stressed out about these last few episodes?? I HATE season finale time because inevitably I am left as a giant ball of anxiety. Oh well. Whatever happens, fic will ease the pain! **


	12. Marseilles Budapest Pacific DC Rota

**Well, it's later than I promised but this weekend was crazy! I was running around like a fool all weekend, then the game went into triple OT yesterday (OF COURSE) and my beloved Wings sadly lost (BOO!) but, hey, it was only Game 2 so on we roll. I was just a wee bit upset in that I didn't get to leave Detroit until 7:30pm, drove 5 hours to Chicago, and then had to get up for work at 5:30am today. The things you do, eh? This week also promises to be insanely busy for me...I have a whole bunch of reports to write for work. But, the good news is that after next Tuesday, my case load gets considerably lighter and then summer is nearly upon us. All wonderful things. So, hang tight and I will update as soon as I can! :-) Enjoy this next bit, I hope. It is a huge mass of things happening...hence the 5 different locations. But I had a feeling you guys wouldn't want me to split this up too much!  
**

(13)

Marseilles – Budapest – Pacific—D.C. – Rota

_Marseilles – 4 days ago_

Ziva enters the hotel trying to look casual. It is a mid-range establishment, filled mostly with families and retirees. She navigates through the lobby, scanning for anyone or anything suspicious. Aside from the child who threatens to break free from his mother's grasp and wreck havoc on a candy display, nothing appears amiss.

She makes her way over the phone bank. Her chest has been giving her some trouble; it aches when she takes a deep breath. But there is no use in dwelling on that. She has made it this far without being spotted and she's nearly to her destination. Her hand brushes against the train ticket to Barcelona tucked in her pocket. Professor Watkins had become sympathetic to her plight after hearing what little she had detailed of her journey during their long car ride (and he even seemed to enjoy her style of driving) so he happily purchased the ticket for her. She will have to be sure to repay him for his kindness. But first, she has to make it out of Marseilles.

Selecting the most secluded of the available phones, she is happy to note several elderly people in the vicinity practically screaming over the line to be heard by family members in distant countries. At least her phone call won't likely be overheard. She punches in a few numbers and waits.

"Yeah. Gibbs."

"It's me," she replies. She can hear her former boss' sigh of relief over the line.

"Where are you?"

She smiles despite herself. "I'm sure McGee can tell you that soon enough. I am en route to a safe house."

"Location?"

Ziva glances around. "Jenny's favorite." She flashes back to a time she spent there with the former director of NCIS, only a night or two, but easily recalls Jenny gushing over the purple curtains in the house and its quaint, romantic location. It was the safe house she chose whenever possible. Gibbs will know this. Gibbs has probably been there, too.

"Got it," Gibbs affirms with a voice more rough than normal. Ziva's heart twinges for him and all that he's lost. She grips the phone a little tighter. "I'm on a plane in an hour."

Ziva nods, though he cannot see her. Just the thought that the end might be in sight is enough to make her body go lax in relief. But she is not out of the woods yet. "The investigation?"

"We're working on it," Gibbs says tightly.

Ziva sighs in frustration. "Yadin is a man with nothing to lose, Gibbs. He's just trying to cause as much damage as he can before he's caught and killed."

"I know, Ziva," Gibbs responds. "Let us worry about that. You get moving."

"Yes, sir," she smirks at the tone of his voice. She imagines him rolling his eyes at her words. He hangs up on her.

Ziva returns the phone to its cradle. With another quick look around she makes her way out of the busy hotel.

After walking a few blocks, she becomes aware of someone following her. Her heart beats quickly in her chest; blood thunders in her ears. Without looking back, she ducks into an alley.

Stationing herself against the wall, she listens for the footfalls of her tail. A few seconds later she hears him approach, slowing his pace as he reaches the alley. Ziva doesn't breathe.

She tenses her muscles.

A second later, the man steps into the dim passage.

Ziva reacts.

A few swift movements and she has him pinned to the ground.

"Who are you?" She screams as she pushes her forearm into his throat. The man gasps and sputters for air. She is breathing heavily and it makes her chest burn.

The man takes her in slowly, a wicked grin forming on his face. "You will bring me good money, sweetheart."

In her brief moment of panic after his response, he is able to catch her off guard and reach for a knife in his belt. Ziva senses the motion and responds. She knees him the groin and pins both his arms down.

"Who sent you?" She shouts again, twisting his wrist in an unnatural way. He grunts.

"It's open hunting on Ziva David," the man spits through his pain. "Yadin promises big money."

Anger rips through her body. Ziva wrenches his wrist harder, enjoying his screech of agony. "Tell Yadin he is as good as dead," she sneers as she stands, kicking the man hard in the chest so that he curls up into a ball. She grabs his knife.

She doesn't intend to kill him. She just wants to walk away. But as she turns to go, leaving the man writhing in pain, she sees him reach for another weapon.

There is no moment of indecision.

She snaps her wrist and the knife goes flying. Her aim is perfect. It lands dead center in his chest as he struggles to pull out his gun. The man falls back to the groud, dying.

She watches the life go out of his eyes. Taking deep, painful breaths Ziva struggles to regain her composure.

So that's how Yadin's working—a hit on the open market. Every piece of scum with a gun is going to be looking for her. Ziva curses. If she ever gets her hands on that bastard again…

Quickly removing the weapons from the scene of the crime, Ziva realizes she's going to have to go about this in a different way. She searches the dead man's pockets and is pleased to find car keys there. Finally, a lucky break.

Ziva spares one last glance at her would-be murderer. Rolling her eyes, she hurries out of the alley.

_One down_, she thinks to herself as she heads out to find the man's car.

She really wants this to be over soon.

* * *

_Budapest – 3 days ago_

He waits in the dingy apartment, watching cockroaches scurry about. It is a clear downgrade from his resort suite, but it suits his purposes just fine.

In the dim light, he traces his finger over her photo. "Noa," he whispers. A warm feeling sweeps over him as he remembers his daughter. He glances up at the silent phone. It's been over a week since his men have last received word from Mossad. As expected, no negotiations were ever to occur. David didn't even have the courage to contact him personally. A stupid move on the Director's part; he would gladly surrender his advantage for face time with the man.

He assumes the younger David has survived somehow. No word of her death has been reported. Though, his source has no knowledge that she has tried to contact Mossad.

Alive or dead, it does not matter. He is willing to pay generously for her head if she has survived; otherwise he is saved the trouble. What does he have to lose now? Either way, he wins and David loses.

The phone rings.

"Shalom," he murmurs into the line. Listening for a moment, a grin, a real true smile, creeps across his face. "That is excellent news. Your information will be rewarded."

Hanging up the phone on his informant, he rushes to dial another number.

"We have word. The Director leaves for Barcelona tomorrow. My source believes his daughter is there. Get me there as soon as possible."

He waits for an affirmative response and hangs up the phone.

"Not long now, princess," he says as he carefully secures his daughter's photo in his jacket pocket.

* * *

_Still in the Pacific – 2 days ago_

"Agent Afloat to the flight deck."

The voice booms over the intercom, startling Tony from his task. A cascade of unsharpened yellow pencils tumble to the floor as he scrambles for his gear.

_Finally, something to do. _

Launching himself out of his office, he hurries to the flight deck. After spending hours upon hours staring at the wall and imagining all the ways in which Ziva could need his help right now, he is grateful for some sort of distraction.

Already he's abused his phone privileges by pestering NCIS headquarters and the Commander has limited his outgoing calls. But is it really his fault if McEvasive refuses to answer any of his questions? Since when did Probie become so capable of subterfuge?

"Make a hole! Coming through!" He shouts as he dodges a staircase. His warnings are merely protocol; most of those in his path are quick to clear the way for him. How nice. He's gained a reputation.

Ascending to the flight deck, his eyes blink to adjust to the sunlight.

He makes his way over to the cargo aircraft idling on the runway. When he sees the man standing next to the plane, he can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

"Gibbs!"

The man in question turns to face him. Though he doesn't give any indication that he's at all excited to see his former senior agent, Tony knows him well enough to read the glimmer in his eyes. _Gibbs did miss me!_

"DiNozzo," Gibbs nods, looking him over. Tony wishes he took that extra few minutes to style his hair. He musses with it self-consciously. "You look like hell."

"I missed you too, boss!" Tony replies with a grin. He steps forward for a hug, but one is not forth coming. This does not surprise him. He pumps his fist in the air to celebrate instead. After getting that out of his system, more pressing matters come to mind. His smile fades. Tony searches the flight deck, hoping that Gibbs is not alone. He is disappointed to find that he is. But that can only mean one thing: _Ziva._ _We're going to save Ziva, right?_ A rush of adrenaline surges through him, making it nearly impossible to stand still as he waits for Gibbs to explain.

"Well, whaddaya waiting for?" Gibbs pins him with a look. "Pack your bags. You've got a new assignment."

Tony jumps to go, happy beyond measure that his sentence on the high seas is over. But that still leaves the question, "Ziva?"

He clenches his fists as he braces himself for news, good or bad.

Gibbs allows no visible response. "DiNozzo, this plane leaves in 10 minutes with or without you on it."

It is a non-answer, but it gives him hope. Surely if things were bad, Gibbs wouldn't be so…Gibbs-like. "On it, boss!" Tony barks as he rushes to get his things.

Good thing he's been packed up for days.

As he hurries back to his bunk-slash-office, his mind is reeling with the possibilities of what happens next.

He can only hope that whatever it is, it will bring Ziva back to him.

* * *

_D.C. – One day ago_

There is an art form to finding leaks. Hundreds of thousands communications are made daily within an intelligence organization, any of which are potential sources for a leak. E-mails are bounced around the globe, phone calls are made, conversations are overheard in the elevator, bathroom, and over lunch. Just thinking about the sheer magnitude of ways in which a determined mind could access sensitive information is nearly enough to make an agent throw his hands up in despair. Surely, it is impossible to pin down that one hole through which secrets are dripping.

But he is better than that.

McGee sifts through the electronic files transmitted to him by Mossad. Though that agency is undoubtedly working all their own angles on the leak, he is happy to lend a helping hand. After all, finding a mole is all about locating a pattern. And to find a pattern, you need perspective. Sometimes all it takes to score a lead is squinting at the information in a different way, something he prides himself on. It's the best he can do to bring home a missing friend.

With a few keystrokes, the information he has inputted into a database resorts itself. He scans the page, waiting for something to jump out at him.

"C'mon," he whispers to himself impatiently. "You can do this, Tim!" There is no one in the bullpen to mock him for cheering himself on. That alone spurns him to search harder.

Then, he sees it.

"Gotcha!" He beams as he isolates some suspect data. He grabs for the phone and dials. "Abby? I have something for you."

* * *

_Rota – One day ago_

"Agent Gibbs! It is a pleasure to finally meet you!" A portly man with a kind face greets Tony and Gibbs where they wait in a conference room at the NCIS field office in Rota, Spain.

"Special Agent Mojarro," Gibbs nods and shakes the man's hand. Hector Mojarro is Resident Agent in Charge of the office. Tony eyes the man, not particularly trusting of his laid back, jovial demeanor.

"Please, please, have a seat," Hector gestures to the table in the room, which has been supplied with an assortment of food. Tony doesn't think he could eat now if he tried. After plane-hopping across the globe, he can't even remember what day or time it is supposed to be let alone decide if he's hungry. To make matters worse, Gibbs has remained typically silent about their current mission. Tony gave up on trying to bombard him with questions after their first few hours of travel; it was clear Gibbs wasn't going to budge until he was good and ready.

"My contact?" Gibbs asks as he sits down, grabbing a bottle of water. He tosses one to Tony. Hard. Tony winces as the bottle nearly nails him in the face. Gibbs glares at him until he finally relents and takes a swig. The water tastes surprisingly refreshing; he wonders when he last really drank anything. Still, he won't give Gibbs the satisfaction of knowing his satisfaction. Tony makes a "happy now?" expression at his mentor, to which Gibbs responds with a roll of his eyes.

Hector shifts his gaze between the two agents, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on his face. "Your contact is at the safe house as promised. I've sent one of my best, Special Agent Shelley Griffin, to oversee things. Agent Griffin assured me the contact is secure."

Gibbs nods. Tony studies the man, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. _Contact?_ _What contact does Gibbs have that the Rota office needs to stow at a safe house?_ Seeing the questions written across his face, Gibbs is quick to move along to prevent Tony from speaking.

"Our transport?"

Hector smiles again. He pushes a folder toward Gibbs. "Agent Franzen is brining a truck out front for you now. We have a room for you for the night. You can head out first thing in the morning. It's a long drive, you know."

"It's fine," Gibbs says dismissively as he reads through the file. Tony begins to get antsy for information. He grabs for the file, but Gibbs swats his hand away. "Cool it, DiNozzo."

"Well, then, agents," Hector looks uncomfortably between the two men. It is clear he is a man used to indulging in social pleasantries. Tony forces a sympathetic grin at him. The agent is clearly barking up the wrong tree. "I am pleased our office could be of assistance to yours, Agent Gibbs. Director Vance was clear on the importance of this mission. However, I have to say, my office could have sufficiently handled the safe transport of a contact to D.C."

"I am sure that is true," Gibbs assents, hardly glancing at Hector, whose face reddens. "But this is a very special contact. You understand."

Flustered, Hector pulls himself to his full height. "Of course, Agent Gibbs. I only hope my office would be afforded the same courtesy."

Tony looks up at the Agent in Charge with his most charming grin. "Any time, Agent Mojarro, though I can't promise we're as generous with the food." Tony stuffs a pastry in his mouth for effect, practically swallowing it dry. It tastes like cardboard. "Director Vance appreciates your cooperation."

Hector looks appeased. "Agent Franzen is waiting outside whenever you are ready to leave."

Gibbs snaps his folder shut. "Give us a few minutes, Agent Mojarro, and we'll be ready to go."

Nodding, Hector hurries out of the room. As soon as the door is closed behind him, the smile melts off Tony's face.

"A special contact?" Tony demands, jumping out of his chair. His mind is racing with the possibilities; he begins to pace the room. He can't think of any reason Gibbs would have to travel all the way to Spain to escort a contact back to the States. And what about Ziva? Why worry about this now? Not unless this person has super, top secret information that couldn't be trusted to anyone but Gibbs…which is unlikely. _Or else…_ He stops dead in his tracks and whirls around to give Gibbs his most accusing stare.

"I cannot _believe _you didn't tell me!"

Gibbs just looks up at him, unfazed. "I suppose it's information I should have shouted across the comm. channel on the plane? So every sailor in the Navy would know?"

Tony can't really argue with that, but he tries. "But…but…Ziva's safe?" His head spins; he is flooded with relief. He takes a chair as his legs feel suddenly weak.

"For now," Gibbs says softly.

Tony buries his face in his hands, overwhelmed with the new information. "You knew and didn't tell me. Boss…I've been losing my freaking mind."

"I know, Tony." Gibbs stands, giving his back a quick pat. "But it was what had to be done. Now you know."

"Yeah…" Tony rubs his temples. He is waffling between relief and anger, never quite landing on either. _Ziva is safe for now._ His mind tries to reorder around that thought. _That means she is here, in Spain, at a safe house…waiting for us. But how the hell did they get her back? _

Tony shoots up from his seat as Gibbs heads toward the door, suddenly full of energy. How they got her back is irrelevant now that she is back. That's all that matters. _She's back. She's safe! _ "Well, then, what the hell are we waiting for? Let's go get her!"

Gibbs rolls his eyes as Tony practically trips over his own feet in his efforts to get out of the building. "Let's go catch a few hours sleep first, DiNozzo. I'm going to be stuck in a vehicle with you for eight hours. I will not have you all slap-happy for the ride."

Tony frowns. How can he be expected to sleep now? "Slap-happy, Boss? Isn't that a better description of _you_?" He laughs at his own horrible joke as he follows Gibbs and Hector, who was waiting for them outside the conference room, to their truck.

"Don't tempt me," Gibbs glares.

Feeling suddenly lighter, Tony finds a genuine grin crossing his mouth. "I don't need sleep. Do you? I thought super snipers could go for months without it. You just need to get yourself some more of that jet fuel you subsist on."

The dark look that crosses Gibbs' face promises violence. Tony swallows the rest of his rant.

He can't control his smirk, though. Or the sudden bounce in his steps. After all, he just found out that Ziva is safe. Relatively speaking. For now.

_Hang on, you crazy chick. I'm coming to get you. _

As they load into their car, Tony has the impulse to hop into the driver's seat before Gibbs can, hijacking their ride and going to get Ziva now. How could he possibly need sleep now?

"Don't even think about it, DiNozzo," Gibbs reprimands, beating him to the driver's seat.

Tony pouts. This is going to be a long night.

* * *

**Well...there you have it. I will try my best to get the next part up this weekend. Things slow down a little bit in that chapter and then....you will be handsomely rewarded with the Tiva! ;-) Thanks again for all your reviews and patience with me. I am excited to finish this one up and move on to other things. I have a few ideas spiraling around my brain. So we'll see! Enjoy the new episode tomorrow-- hopefully! **


	13. Barcelona En route to Barcelona

**Hey everyone! Thanks for waiting so patiently for more! This week has been nuts. The end is in sight for me, though...if I can make it through Tuesday afternoon, work will get significantly calmer for me as we roll on towards summer. This next part is a little filler until we get to the next part in which TIVANESS finally occurs. ;-) So, I know this is short and not very fun-filled, but you will be rewarded. I have the next two parts all written and ready to go so I plan on updating soon. I'm assuming we'll need a little happy Tiva in our lives after the next episode, right? Gah, I'm glad I'm so busy/stressed with work so that I haven't had too much time to dwell. Anyhoo, enjoy this next bit and more will be posted soon. Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! I appreciate each and every one! :) Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there! I hope all you daughters and sons are more on top of it than I am and didn't forget to send a card until Saturday...luckily, my mom loves me anyway! (And my brother, who lives at home still, didn't even remember what day it is...ah, I love being the older, mature, responsible one!)**

(13)

Barcelona – En route to Barcelona

_Barcelona – Present day_

"Ten ways to make your man beg," Agent Shelley Griffin reads aloud from the magazine she's flipping through, no shortage of amusement in her voice. "Hmm, maybe if I'd tried number eight my ex wouldn't have slept with his hair stylist."

Ziva stops her pacing to read over the agent's shoulder. Skimming the article, she arches an eyebrow. "I think if you had tried number eight, you might have needed medical attention."

"True," Shelley admits with a sigh, tossing the magazine back onto a pile on the table. For a moment she's silent, her eyes trailing Ziva as she walks the room. "Can you just sit down for a minute? You're making me dizzy!"

Ziva comes to a stand still, but doesn't sit down. "I hate waiting. I am very bad at waiting." She folds her arms across her chest and gives Shelley an arch look. It isn't the agent's fault, really. But three days cooped up in a house with nothing to do but read old magazines and wait and she's losing her mind just a little bit. At least Shelley has given her the space to rest and regroup with few questions asked. She knows she could've been stuck being babysat by someone a lot worse. But now that she feels considerably stronger, she wants to do something. Anything. Sitting around and biding her time until NCIS comes to extract her is driving her slowly crazy. Shelley has already banned her from cleaning their weapons yet again.

"I hadn't noticed," Shelley says dryly, standing up. She walks over to Ziva and grabs her by the shoulders. Ziva tenses immediately, fighting the urge to lash out at the woman. Instead, she lets Shelley steer her to a chair. "You. Sit."

Ziva rolls her eyes. "I am fine."

"No, you are not." Shelley shoves an old copy of a tabloid at Ziva. "You need try to relax."

Ziva just snorts in response and begins to flip through the magazine, not seeing any of the pictures. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the NCIS agent bustle about the safe house kitchen making tea. Suddenly aware of the unease in her stomach, Ziva is grateful.

"Did you hear from your office?" Ziva asks, pushing the magazine aside. Shelley pulls two mugs out of a cabinet. This is a very well stocked safe house. It could almost be cozy, if it didn't feel so much like a prison. She remembers why Jenny liked it so much.

Shelley nods her head in affirmation, her blonde curls bouncing in response. "Hector said to expect a team in the afternoon."

Ziva's heart skips a beat. Suddenly, she feels like a child again—that same feeling of impatience on the eve of a special day, how morning seems impossibly far away and your skin is not enough to contain your excitement. She begins to tap her fingers on the table. She wonders what team is coming for her. Surely it will be some more agents from the Rota office. And she would not put it past Gibbs to show up; she knows he does not trust his personal missions to others.

For a fleeting moment, she imagines Tony showing up with Gibbs to transport her to safety. She shivers a little at the thought of seeing him again. But that thought is quickly pushed aside as logic prevails. Tony is still afloat. He would not be able to accompany Gibbs. A hand drops to her stomach absentmindedly. A sudden rush of anxiety strikes her. If soon this will all be over, if soon she goes back to…whatever her life will be now…then soon she will have to tell Tony about the baby and begin making plans for her future. That thought alone is enough to overwhelm her. She drums a faster beat on the table.

"Whoa there, Ziva!" Shelley scolds as she sets two steaming mugs of tea on the table. Ziva stills her hand with a frown. She didn't even hear the kettle whistle.

"I am not very good at waiting," Ziva sighs again, twisting her hair in her hands. Shelley shares a sympathetic look with her.

"Well, we've got a lot of time to kill." Shelley makes a face at the horrible magazine selection, then turns to look at Ziva. Ziva does not like the glint in the agent's blue eyes. "How about you fill me in on your story? You know, how you ended up here in a stolen car when the news is still broadcasting your kidnapping?"

Ziva gives the woman a cold stare. It's the same expression she's nailed Shelley with every time the agent has tried to pry these past few days. "It is a long story."

Shelley shrugs, the aggressive demeanor she'd previously shown melting into something more warm and friendly. "We've got all night. It's either that or finish the crossword puzzles that stumped my colleagues."

Ziva chuckles. Agent Griffin is good, she will admit. Though the woman looks like she stepped off a cover of one of the magazines she so clearly despises, she is also a smart, effective agent. Her interrogation technique is interesting given the circumstances—wear down your witness with repeated questions sprinkled in kindness. Shelley reminds her a little of Jenny. She's disarmingly pretty and knows how to use that to her advantage. She knows how to tow the line and at the same time shuffle her way over the line. Despite her better instincts, Ziva finds herself trusting the woman. Blind trust is her new thing, apparently. Ziva can't say she likes this change in herself.

"C'mon, Ziva," Shelley prods. "I'm bored as hell. If you tell me your story, I promise to spill a good one I have about the current Director." Ziva raises her eyebrows, intrigued.

"Fine," she assents, if only to repay the agent for putting up with her sour, impatient mood the last few days. "But this information is classified!"

Shelley's eyes sparkle in the kitchen light as she leans forward, eager to listen. "I wouldn't dream of betraying the sisterhood," she promises with a wink. Ziva finds herself chuckling.

Taking a tentative sip of her tea, Ziva finds herself begin to relax. For a minute, it's easy to forget everything but the quaint kitchen, hot tea, and friendly company she has now. And for some reason, that makes her feel safe enough to share. Besides, conversation is bound to pass the time more quickly than staring out the window. She's already tried that. She takes a deep breath. "It all started when Director Vance reassigned my team…"

* * *

_En route to Barcelona – Present day_

The sun is barely peaking over the horizon as Tony and Gibbs speed across Spain. They spent a few hours resting in Rota (Tony can't claim he did much sleeping) before setting off for Barcelona in the wee hours of the morning. As they close the distance between their truck and the safe house, few words are spoken. For his part, Tony just stares straight ahead, willing a protective bubble around Ziva until he can get there.

_Hang on, Ziva, hang on. _

It is his mantra. He hopes he's sending the right vibes her way. Being so close and still so far away is worse than any of the waiting he's done so far. The thought that something could happen to her in the relatively short few hours he has to wait to see her is causing his heart to jump in odd patterns and his palms to sweat.

Worse than that, though, are the questioning looks his former boss keeps throwing his way. After one more, he snaps.

"What? What is it, Gibbs? Do I have something on my face?"

A tiny smirk creeps across Gibbs' lips, annoying Tony all the more. "No, DiNozzo," the man responds, then says nothing further.

Tony bristles under the silence. "So _what_? Why the looks?"

The expression he gets in response chills Tony's blood. If he were in the mood to care about pissing off his mentor, Tony would jump to apologize. As it stands, he's too anxious to mind. Suddenly, the cab of the truck is entirely too small. His restless legs start jittering.

"Tony, you are awfully close to violating one of my rules," Gibbs says in a low voice that Tony knows means business.

"Screw your rules," Tony replies evenly. Here comes the inevitable moment when Gibbs tears him a new one for his relationship, or whatever it can possibly be called in its current state, with Ziva. He stares straight ahead, now perfectly still. "Neither Ziva nor I are back on the team yet so don't tell me how to feel about her!"

Gibbs whips his head to fix Tony with an incredulous look. Tony squirms. "Interesting that you went straight to Rule Number 12, DiNozzo. I was more concerned with Rule Number 19."

Tony can't help but chuckle, though there is little amusement in his laugh. "Number 19: Never annoy Gibbs on a road trip or he reserves the right to toss your ass out the window."

"Damn straight," Gibbs agrees with a glint in his eye.

Tony suddenly wishes Gibbs would boot him out of the moving vehicle. It would save him the embarrassment of dealing with what is sure to come next.

"But back to your little revelation." Gibbs keeps his gaze fixed on the road, which does not comfort Tony in the least. He would feel less on the spot standing naked on the fifty-yard line in the middle of the Superbowl.

He decides to go with the offensive play. "Oh, c'mon, Boss! Don't tell me your famous gut didn't warn you about this!"

"I didn't need my gut to warn me, DiNozzo," Gibbs responds dryly. "My eyes did the job just fine."

Tony makes a face but says nothing. For a long moment, silence reigns.

"You finally pulled your head out of your ass, huh?" Gibbs mutters as he dodges a giant pothole in the road with more force than strictly necessary.

Griping onto the grab rail as the truck swerves, Tony can only respond with a "what?" in his confusion. Once the vehicle is back on a steady path, Tony composes his thoughts. "Wait…_what_? Are you saying you noticed something before? Because nothing happened until—

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barks. "Is there something in my face that tells you I want gossip like a thirteen year-old girl?"

Tony winces. "Er…no, Boss."

"Then shut your trap about it. If you're going to break one of my rules, I don't want to see it or hear about it. _Ever._ Got it?"

"Got it, Boss." Tony responds, a feeling of relief washing over him. That wasn't so bad. He's glad Gibbs went with the tried and true "don't ask, don't tell" policy rather than any of the other options that have been haunting him at night. Maybe it's because of this he decides to push just a little more. After all, one of his favorite past times is annoying his boss. "But technically, Ziva and I are not coworkers right now. So we wouldn't really be breaking any rules."

"You really want to dive through that loophole, Tony? Fine. Then what about when you two are _technically_ coworkers again?" Gibbs throws a quick glare in his direction. Tony sees the error of his pushing a little too late. He takes a deep breath.

"Then you can ship me back the USS Deathbox for all I care," he answers seriously. "As long as Ziva's back at NCIS, safe, and not being chased all over Europe by her own damn colleagues. That's all that matters to me."

Gibbs studies him for a moment. There is something solemn in the man's face that worries Tony, but he can't pinpoint why that might be or what Gibbs is hiding from him still. He tries, and fails, not to look scared. "Good answer," Gibbs finally responds. Tony beams, the praise temporarily allaying his fears.

Then, thinking for a moment, his smile fades. "But please don't send me back to sea."

Gibbs snorts. "If you're lucky."

Tony slumps in his seat, his mind now clouded with more anxiety. _How many more hours until Barcelona? _


	14. Barcelona, Part I

**So apparently I lied when I said Tuesday...sorry guys! Thanks for waiting so patiently! I forgot it was my friend's birthday and we had dinner plans....so after my crazy marathon day, I had to do that and by the time I got home I was just too tired. Sadly, our stupid Comcast is all jacked up and our DVR did not record NCIS in watchable form. Boo! I hope that when I get home today I will be able to watch the OnDemand episode...fingers crossed! I'm excited/scared after reading all the "reviews" of it. (Like I could resist spoiling myself!) Anyhoo...here is the long awaited Tiva! This part was difficult for me to post because I have had so much fun writing it and re-writing it....but hopefully y'all will enjoy it. ;-)**

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(14)

Barcelona

_Barcelona – Present day_

"Ziva." Someone is shaking her, pulling her out of what was a really good dream. "_Ziva_, wake up."

Blinking, Ziva slowly returns to consciousness. "Shelley?"

The blonde smiles at her. "Yup, that is the correct answer this time."

Ziva yawns and throws back the blankets that cover her. "This time?"

"Oh _Tony_," Shelley moans with a wink. Ziva feels her face heat up. Images of her dream flash through her mind. Perhaps she should have not told Shelley as many details as she did about her journey so far as that information is now being used against her, but once she'd gotten started it was hard to not spill everything. It felt good to unburden herself for a time.

"Hormones," Ziva says dismissively in response to Shelley and climbs out of bed. Glancing at the clock, she frowns. "It is late." It is not like her to sleep so late into the morning.

"It is," Shelley confirms. She flashes her sidearm at Ziva. "The sensor went off. Someone's coming up the road. Let's go."

"Why did you not say so in the first place?" Ziva exclaims as she shoves her feet into her shoes and grabs her gun. She follows Shelley as the woman hurries out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the door. They each rush to a window where they are afforded a view of the driveway up to the house; unless someone approaches through the dense woods that surround the area, they will see whoever it is that came up the road.

"So you think it's lover-boy?" Shelley asks as she eyes the road.

Ziva flushes, though this time not from embarrassment but from the thought of seeing Tony again. And after such a vivid dreamland encounter with him, too—she wasn't kidding about the hormones affecting her. Her whole body is buzzing with desire. She takes a deep breath and tries to concentrate her thoughts on other more likely scenarios.

"No, I do not," Ziva answers. "It may be Gibbs, my former team leader at NCIS. Though I do not know who will actually do the extraction."

Shelley snorts, "_Extraction_. Ha."

Rolling her eyes, Ziva peers out the window. "Your sense of humor is as juvenile as Tony's."

"I choose to take that as a compliment," Shelley says, then, seeing a truck come up the road mutters, "Here we go."

Ziva tenses, ready for a confrontation. The truck slows to a stop a few feet from the house. The sun in her eyes blocks her from seeing anything but two male silhouettes in the vehicle.

"Two males," Shelley states, getting into position.

The truck doors open and they both step out, guns at the ready.

Realizing who it is, a smile breaks out on Ziva's face. "Gibbs," she says, lowering her gun, "and _Tony_!"

"A-ha! So lover-boy did make the journey!" Shelley still doesn't lower her weapon. She squints. "Is he the silver fox or the dreamboat?"

A burst of laughter escapes Ziva. "The one on our left."

"Hmm." Shelley considers this information. "Fine choice. Though it really could've gone either way, in my opinion. Guess it depends on your level of daddy issues."

Ziva ignores Shelley as she stares transfixed from the window, her heart pounding like crazy in her chest. Gibbs and Tony scan their surroundings as they quickly make their way to the house. _Tony!_ She has to blink several times to be sure she's not hallucinating. But there he is, looking just as beautiful as she remembers him. Her body itches to go to him. She rushes to the door.

"Uh-uh!" Shelley gets there first. "You stay inside."

Ziva glares at the woman, stopping short in her tracks, though she doesn't argue. It would've been a stupid mistake for her to exit the house. She can't believe she almost made it—the thought that Tony is so close to her reach again now, after everything she's gone through, is nearly too much to bear. Ignoring the overwhelming urge she has to rush into his arms, she steps back into the hallway.

Shelley gives her a quick smile. "Good girl!"

Then, there is a knock and Shelley throws open the door to their guests. Gibbs and Tony enter the house, assessing the situation.

Seeing Shelley, Gibbs nods and flashes his badge. Shelley does the same, identifying herself to him with a smile. Gibbs holsters his weapon. Tony follows suit, though his eyes still search the scene. The tension is visible in his body. Shelley clears the exterior and shuts and locks the door.

Unable to wait any longer, Ziva steps out of the hallway. Tony's eyes instantly meet hers; they light up. She doesn't wait, doesn't speak. In one fluid motion, Ziva clicks the safety on her gun, pushes it to Shelley, and launches herself at Tony.

Tony staggers under the force of her weight for a moment, but quickly rights himself. His arms circle around her, hugging her tightly to him. Ziva buries her face in his neck and inhales his scent. A little ripe from hours of travel, but she could not care less.

"Ziva," Tony exhales, kissing her head. "Thank God."

Ziva can't help the few tears that squeeze out of her eyes as the reality of the situation hits her. Her body goes limp with relief and she's glad that his arms support her. "Tony," she whispers into his skin, tasting a hint of it on her lips. She can hardly believe that he is here in her arms. "You're here."

"Are you kidding?" He eases her out of his embrace just a little, his hands skimming her back as if testing that she is solid, present. Ziva lifts her head so she can see his face again. Her memories of him have nothing on the real thing. Just to see the twinkle in his eyes as he drinks her in makes all this pain and suffering worth it. "I was about ready to hijack a jet when Gibbs showed up."

Ziva beams a smile so uncontrollable that it tests the limits of her lips. "That would not have worked out well, Tony," she admonishes, liking the sassy face he makes at her in response. She chuckles and squeezes him tight. He presses his lips to her forehead, murmuring something she can only feel. She sighs into him and closes her eyes.

"You two about done yet?" Gibbs interrupts their moment with his gruff voice.

"Gibbs!" Lifting her head, Ziva is reminded of the man who saved her in the first place. Giving Tony a reassuring pat, she leaves his arms to greet Gibbs with a quick kiss on his cheek when he makes no move to embrace her. "I owe you for this."

"Yeah, well, we'll work out some sort of payment plan, I'm sure," her boss says with a smirk. Behind that, though, Ziva can read the worry in his eyes. She gives him a sharp nod, assuring him that she's okay. He winks at her.

"Look at the Boss-Man, bringing the funny, funny jokes!" Tony grins as he reaches for Ziva again as soon as she steps away from Gibbs. Off their boss' look, he only pulls her to stand by his side so that their arms are touching-- a perfectly respectable form of contact between partners that is much too minimal for Ziva's taste. Ziva traces the back of his hand with her finger, relishing the warmth and texture of his skin, liking that he leans into her in response. Every couple of seconds, their eyes meet as they sneak glances at one another.

"So long trip, huh?" Shelley announces rather awkwardly in the midst of all the boundary pushing. A wide smile lights up her face which, when combined with her blonde curls and blue eyes, only makes her look more like a pageant contestant. Tony and Gibbs turn to the agent with bemused expressions. Introductions are made.

Shelley keeps Gibbs talking, no easy feat, so that Ziva can turn to face Tony. Her eyes travel up and down his body. They lean into one another.

"Just as irresistible as you remember?" Tony smirks, placing his hands firmly on her hips, tugging her into him so that their foreheads are nearly touching. Ziva leers at him and runs her hands up his toned arms. _Yes_, she wants to answer. He does look good, delectable even. His simple jeans and a black t-shirt hug his frame, suggesting he's spent some of his free time afloat in the gym. His hair is a little longer than she remembers, like he needs a haircut. But aside from that, he's the same Tony…a little older looking, maybe more mature, but definitely just as irresistible.

She doesn't answer his question. Instead, she tilts her chin up at him and grabs a fistful of his t-shirt. His eyes go dark, his lips part. She can feel his heart speed up under her hand. She gives him her most seductive look, enjoying the quick intake of breath he takes.

And just when she yanks him down to her, so close she can taste his breath and watch his eyes flutter closed, they are jolted back to reality.

"Hey!" Gibbs barks, causing them to spring apart and face the commanding voice. "I didn't travel half way across the world to watch you two paw at each other!"

Ziva schools her face into an expression of calm indifference as she folds her disobedient hands in front of her. Tony is not so easily composed. Instead, he stands on the spot with the biggest, most smug grin she's ever seen. She shoots him a warning look, but it's too late. Gibbs smacks him on the back of his head.

"Hey!" Tony shouts, rubbing his head "She started it!" Shelley laughs. Ziva just shakes her head at Tony for selling her out.

"No excuse, DiNozzo," Gibbs growls, though there is a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I will have your ass deployed to the Arctic if you don't keep your hands to yourself. "

Tony mutters something about rules and coworkers and foreign soil as Gibbs turns back to Shelley.

Ziva swats Tony's hand out of the way and takes over soothing his battle wound. He sighs happily at her ministrations. Daring fingers creep up the small of her back and under the edge of her t-shirt, caressing the skin there. Ziva bites her lip.

"I need to talk with Tony," Ziva announces, sharing a look with Gibbs. She grabs Tony's roaming hand and starts to pull her scared and confused partner toward the stairs.

To Tony's visible surprise, Gibbs nods. "You've got one hour. And then I'm coming in with buckets of cold water."

Tony's eyebrows shoot up as he trails Ziva up the stairs. "One hour? But, Gibbs, that's hardly—

"Buckets of ice cold water, DiNozzo," Gibbs snaps and turns to Shelley. "Got any food around here?"

Grinning, Shelley gestures toward the kitchen. "Help yourself." Gibbs makes his exit followed closely by the blonde agent.

Once safe on the stairs, Ziva locks eyes with Tony. She doesn't have to say anything. As soon as Gibbs is out of sight, Tony pushes her up against the wall and melds his mouth to hers. She swallows a gasp of surprise at the sudden contact and responds eagerly to the kiss. Wrapping her arms around Tony's neck she urges him closer as she kisses him deeply. He moans in delight. It is clear they are both making up for lost time. Ziva finds herself nearly crushed in his embrace but can't be bothered to push him away. Instead, she pours months and weeks and days of longing into her kiss. She is greedy for his body, for the feel of him surrounding her and invading all her senses. His hands are just as insatiable as they explore the planes of her skin.

Finally, the burning in her lungs is too much to ignore. Ziva wrests her mouth from Tony's and keeps his wandering lips at bay by framing his face with her hands. For a long moment, they rest their foreheads together and just breathe the same air. Ziva can't bring herself to open her eyes for fear that this will all be a wonderful dream.

When Ziva finally accepts that this is indeed reality, she opens her eyes to find herself confronted by Tony's stormy gaze.

"I was so worried," he whispers as he traces the wound on her neck. The flash of pain across his features is impossible to miss.

"I am okay now," she responds, trying to reassure him with a look. She clasps her hand over his, freezing it on her neck so he can feel her pulse steady and strong. "You are here with me."

And it's true. Everything else seems so far away now that she is here in Tony's arms. Just hearing his voice is enough to calm the frayed ends of her nerves; his touch melts away all of her fears. If she were to close her eyes, she might think they were back in her bedroom or in a seedy motel in L.A. or even their deluxe suite from so many years ago. It's funny how she never realized how stabilizing and familiar his very presence has become to her.

"Your head," Tony frowns, picking at her bandage. Ziva can feel the anxiety that begins to radiate from him. She distracts him with another kiss, this one composed less of frenzied passion and more of languid exploration.

"We have much to talk about," she says when they draw away from one another. Tony just nods as she kisses his jaw and begins to lead her up the stairs. The look in his eyes says talking is the last thing on his mind right now.

"It's been 71 days, Ziva," Tony pouts as he leads them to her bedroom, their hands tangled together. Ziva has to direct him to the right room. She smiles as she remembers her email to him.

"I know that, Tony," she sing-songs as she shuts the door behind them. When she turns back to him, she finds him already reclined on her bed with a wolfish grin on his face. She's suddenly dizzy with lust.

"I've been dreaming about this moment for 71 days, Zee-vah." Tony waggles his eyebrows and pats the bed next to him. Ziva snorts, trying to look annoyed.

"Oh, is that all you've been thinking about? Why am I not surprised?" She moves to stand next to the bed but does not give him the satisfaction of sitting down. When he reaches for her, she dodges his hands with a sly look. She knows they really need to talk right now, but flirting with him is so wonderful and familiar that she cannot shift the conversation to more serious topics.

There will be time later.

Finally, they have time.

"That's not _all_ I've been thinking about, dear Ziva. But it is certainly my preferred topic of fantasy." Tony appraises her; all she needs to know is apparent in his darkened eyes. Her breathing becomes shallower as her coy façade slowly slips away. "It was a much better alternative than imagining you held captive by that bastard—

"Tony," she warns, but only for his own benefit. A dark look has taken over his features and she suddenly worries how much he's tortured himself over her reassignment and disappearance, and how in the wake of Jenny's death that cannot be a good thing for him.

He doesn't say anything else to her, but the broken look on his face is enough to make her worry. He swallows visibly.

"Tony?" She asks in a pleading tone. She climbs up on the bed to sit next to him. He doesn't move to touch her. Studying him, she searches for clues to his state of mind. "Tell me you are not still blaming yourself for everything." She remembers his words to her, that he was doing better. Now she isn't so sure…and now there is so much more at stake.

Tony's expression softens as he finally reaches for her. "I am better," he answers. The raw edge to his voice makes her heart twinge. "Now that you are here," he adds almost shyly.

Ziva smiles, for she feels the same way. They are quiet for a moment as she traces his features with her fingers, confirming the exact angle of his nose and curve of his cheekbone. For awhile, they just stare at one another, each still unsure of the other's presence. Eventually satisfied with what she finds in Tony's eyes, Ziva leans down to kiss him. He tastes like home.

"I am here," she whispers in disbelief when they break apart again. An emotion Ziva has yet to identify flashes across Tony's face; it makes her stomach drop with its intensity. He smirks at her before he pins her to the bed, devouring her mouth again.

Ziva knows she should stop this, that they really need to talk. But as Tony's impatient hands tug her shirt over her head she can't find the strength to say no. Her own traitorous fingers are working to remove the last barriers between them. When Tony's lips latch onto her neck, her most sensitive of spots, she is decided. She deserves this time with him. _They_ deserve this time to reconnect, to pick up where they left off so abruptly.

They deserve this time together before everything changes again.

* * *

**Well! How'd it go? I hope it lived up to expectations...I've been tinkering with this piece for so long that it's hard for me to be objective about it anymore. I grant that our duo was a little sappy/horny, but after all they've been through....why not, right? ;-) The next part is also completed....it's a rather abrupt tonal change from this piece because I'm switching to Tony's POV and he comes across as a lot more humorous for me, so I hope everyone can live with that. ;-) I will post that part sometime in the next couple of days. Be on the look out! Thanks for all the lovely reviews, everyone! You keep me going! :-)**


	15. Barcelona, Part II

**I forced myself to stop tinkering with this chapter and post it already. You're welcome. ;) This chapter contains a reference to Probie, so if you haven't seen that episode get thyself to YouTube stat! Thanks again for all the lovely comments. You're keeping me going! I'm very much relieved that the school year is nearly over...anyone who works in special education will understand the relief that occurs after your last IEP of the year....ahhhh.... With that sigh of relief, onward... Enjoy!**

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(15)

Barcelona, Part II

_Barcelona – Present Day _

"That was amazing," Tony sighs as he collapses on the bed in a sweaty heap. Ziva chuckles at him, a bittersweet sound that rings in his ears, and curls up to his side. It takes all his effort to lift an arm around her. Now he needs to sleep for a hundred years. Or at least until Gibbs storms in on them as promised. Frankly, he's willing to risk that awkward, and surely painful, moment for just a little more time with his partner.

"Mmm," she murmurs as she runs her hand through his hair, dragging her nails along his sensitive scalp and lulling him into a strange state of relaxed arousal, "I would have to agree."

He groans as Ziva continues touching him. It's been a long few days and now he can barely keep his eyes open. Catching a few winks with the woman he loves wrapped around him sounds like pretty much the best thing ever right now.

"Sleepy-time now, my ninja." He gropes for a blanket to pull over their bodies. Perfectly content, his eyes slide shut.

Ziva sighs into his neck, sending shivers down his body. That does not encourage his need to sleep. "Tony, my furry bear," she whispers, stroking his chest, and he can visualize the teasing grin on her face, "there is no time for sleep. We have to talk."

He grunts and refuses to open his eyes.

"Tony!" Ziva demands louder, and throws back the covers. A blast of cool air hits his exposed skin causing him to wince. "Wake up!"

"Imawake," he murmurs as the call of sleep continues to beckon him. He loves Ziva and all, but the assassin has way more energy than he does. It's not fair, truly. He can feel Ziva roll her eyes at him.

"Fine," she says shortly. She gets up from the bed, leaving him cold and alone. He frowns and reaches out for her, still unwilling to open his eyes. "If you won't talk, I will." Tony drops his arms to the bed again. _Women! Always wanting to talk._ What do they possibly have to say right now that doesn't involve sex or sleep? They are back together again, safe for the time being. As far as he's concerned, nothing else matters right now.

He hears Ziva moving about the room through his waning consciousness. A few seconds later, he feels her weight on the bed again. _Good._ And then, she's straddling him.

His eyes fly open. _Well, now I'm awake. _He's confronted with the glorious sight of his partner above him, hair a big mess of curls, wearing nothing but his black t-shirt. He grins. _Oh yeah, definitely awake._

"Tony," she declares, swatting his hands away from her body. His grin fades. The super spook means business, which is never a good thing. "I'm pregnant."

Huh. He must've been so addled by the sexy sight of his sexy spy that he lost his hearing for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he responds, confused. "I didn't quite catch that…"

The look on Ziva's face can almost be described as impatient. Pitying. But certainly she has no reason to look at him like that.

She sighs and leans forward on his chest. _Well, that doesn't help with the hearing thing._ "Anthony DiNozzo," she purrs into his ear, "I am pregnant."

It takes him a moment to process her words but when they finally compute he finds his eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. "What?" He asks dumbly.

Sitting upright, Ziva catches his gaze and holds it as she slowly pronounces each word for him. "Pregnant, Tony. With your child."

A dull buzzing sound starts in his head. He blinks. "I don't…" _Pregnant? How is that even--- what!? _

"Oh for crying aloud," Ziva huffs and crawls off of him and out of the bed.

"_Out loud_, Ziva," he corrects automatically as he finds himself even more confused by her sudden departure. He watches her rifle through her bag, appreciating the view of her toned legs as she bends over. They distract him well. "Are we going to have to start some English remediation courses for you?"

Finding what she was looking for, she returns to the bed. She fixes him with a glare as she sits beside him, not on top of him. He pouts.

"Focus, Tony!" She shoves a piece of paper in front of his face. "Your baby." He takes what he now sees is a photograph, turning it in his hands. "Our baby," she corrects with a soft voice, leaning into him.

His whole body goes still as he studies the image. It's undeniably an ultrasound photo and he thinks he can see what kind of looks like an alien head and weird little body…and is that a nose? Or…? He squints to get a better look.

"Its face, Tony," Ziva smiles as she rests her chin on his shoulder so they are studying the picture of their baby together.

"Seriously?" Tony asks, lowering the photo to look at Ziva. Her brown eyes are clear and intense as she nods. "But…_how_?"

Ziva chuckles. "If I have to explain that to you…"

Shaking his head, he pulls Ziva into his arms. "What I mean, smartass, is how did this happen…it was only one night."

"One night is all it takes, Tony," Ziva responds, her tone still teasing. "One night and one faulty condom."

"Hmm," Tony considers this. He's going to be a father. Ziva's pregnant. With his kid. The thoughts keep zipping around his brain, none of them quite making sense. He supposes he should be freaking out just about now, but can't seem to wrap his brain around the idea enough for that to happen. Then, a stray thought—a memory, really—takes hold and he finds himself laughing, Uncontrollably.

"What?" Ziva sits up, indignant. "You think this is _funny_?"

Tony tries to stop his laughter, if only because Ziva looks like she might snap on him, but this really is too rich. "Oh…this is ironic!" He breathes, calming himself. Ziva eyes him. "A true case of cosmic payback!"

"What?" Ziva is clearly affronted and yet he can't stop himself.

"_It's hard to believe a stud like you wouldn't be chosen_," he imitates her in a conversation from years ago. He laughs again. "That's karma, baby! Look who wants the DiNozzo sperm now!"

Ziva's eyes narrow as she remembers. For a long moment, Tony truly thinks she's going to murder him. He stops gigging, tries to look serious. He really needs to work on not defaulting to inappropriate humor. It's likely to get him killed. Soon.

But not now. Because now Ziva is laughing too. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears as she cracks up at the memory. Tony sighs in relief. After a long minute of unrestrained mirth, Ziva begins to calm down. Amusement gives way to composure as she takes big gulps of air. But quickly as it came, the calm is chased away by a grave, stormy expression. Tony braces himself.

"But this is not karma or irony or any of those things, Tony." Ziva's voice has a tone of quiet hysteria that he's never heard before. "This is not a funny joke. This is very real."

His stomach drops at her admonishment and he worries that he's somehow gone and mucked up this entire situation in the span of minutes. Suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

"I know," he chokes out through the guilt that rises up his throat. "I'm sorry."

Ziva takes a deep, shuddering breath and seems to collect herself; the tension that had coiled in her body dissipates. She wipes some moisture out of the corners of her eyes and he sincerely hopes that it was residue from the laughter and nothing more. Ziva accepts his apology with a sharp nod, but her eyes dart around the room rather than settle on him. She is silent.

Tony is unsure what to say next, how to even begin to fix this, so instead he glances down at the picture in his hands. Tracing the image with his thumb, he feels the gravity of the situation pull him crashing to the ground. "So…we're really going to have a kid?"

Him. With a kid.

_Me? A father?_

Of course he's thought about the possibility before—a guy doesn't get around as much as he did without considering the potential ramifications of sowing his oats, and then there was that whole sperm bank thing. But an oopsie-baby with a fling is one thing…knocking up his former partner and the woman he was ready to attempt to steal a fighter jet to go rescue is quite another.

Ziva is having his baby.

He tries to picture it and finds it surprisingly easy to do. He imagines a little super agent he can hold and protect and love and teach to play football. It's a foreign idea…but, somehow, not completely insane.

Twisting her fingers together, Ziva manages to look up at him. A glint of fear creeps into her eyes. "Are you okay with that? I mean…I know we didn't plan this. _Of course_ we did not plan this, so I will understand if—

"Ziva!" Tony stops her mid rant with a finger to her lips. Her eyes soften, become hopeful. "We didn't plan this, but we are in this together. Partners, right?"

If it's one thing he doesn't doubt, it's that. This is Ziva of all people and he has no choice but to stick by her side. Forgetting the fact that he wants to, surely she would have his ass on a platter if he punked out on her. Relief floods Ziva's features. He feels a twinge of hurt that she ever doubted his participation. True, the thought that he's going to be a father is making his heart beat erratically and that buzzing in his ears hasn't gone away yet, but it's not like he won't come to terms with the idea. Eventually.

And again…this is _Ziva._ He is clearly nutzo for this woman. If he was willing to hop across the globe in search of her, surely he can man up and accept that they are going to have a baby.

Right?

_We're having a baby. _

_Holy shit._

"Partners," Ziva affirms in a shaky voice and hugs him tight. Tony drops a kiss on her head, squeezing her back.

"Now, dear Ziva," he begins, pulling away slightly. He studies her face, the bandage that's still on her forehead, and the wound that's healing on her neck. He runs through a mental catalogue of all the yellowing bruises he found on her body. His eyes flit down to her chest, her stomach, her hips now remembering the slight roundness to her figure that he'd been too rushed to think about before—she's had a baby cooking in there the whole time? A wave of panic washes over him, thinking of all that could have gone wrong. Not just for Ziva but for…the little alien creature that they have created. The little alien creature to whom he wants to teach the finer points of American cinema. His world has titled on its very axis. He feels rather dizzy. Taking a deep breath, he gives Ziva a stern look, "you need to fill me in on just what the hell happened to you."

Shaking her head, Ziva snorts and settles them on the bed together. Tony carefully places the ultrasound photo on the nightstand and pulls the covers over their bodies.

"Where to begin?" Ziva asks rhetorically as she snuggles up to him. Tony strokes her hair, thinking.

_I've got Ziva back and I'm going to be a father. Ziva is having my baby. _

Tony listens to Ziva's tale, half his brain still working out the revelations of the last few hours. His world has officially been turned upside down but in the grand scheme of things, he can't find much room to complain. He smiles.

All in all, not a bad day. And it isn't even noon yet.

* * *

**Well....verdict? I had so much fun writing this...getting into Tony's crazy brain is always fun. I hope I struck the right balance between humor and drama...I switched it up as I was writing more times than I will admit. But whenever I'd take something out, it would sneak its way back in...and I just couldn't avoid that Probie reference because, seriously? That cracks me up whenever it's on...all I can think is, "someday, Ziva, someday." Oh those crazy kids. Speaking of which, who else is totally freaked out for the finale on Tuesday?? I know I am! We'll see, I guess. :)**


	16. Barcelona, Part III

**Hello everyone! Long time, no see! I'm sorry for the delay between updates, but, long story short, a squirrel was living in my cable box and so I missed the finale and then spoiled myself, which freaked me out and so I was too scared to watch it...and that made it really hard to write this and ugh... So, I finally watched the finale yesterday, which really helped me to get this out. I was kind of stuck on this part and the next, so you know the drill...I have to move on or else I will ruminate forever with this. I'm moving in the next two weeks, so I will do my best to get the next part up in a few days. I appreciate all those who continue to read and review. No worries-- I estimate about 5-6 parts left in this and I have no intention of not finishing it, especially after getting this far. :) So, if the next few parts come out rather slowly don't be worried. I will finish this baby up! And now without further ado...**

(16)

Barcelona, Part III

_Still Barcelona – Present day_

"It's been an hour," Shelley announces to her fellow NCIS agent. Gibbs is sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house. The remains of his lunch, only a crust or two of his sandwich, sit on an otherwise empty plate. He's set up a mini command center with a few files and a laptop spread out across the table (though the laptop has been largely ignored) and is currently engrossed in a document.

"Yeah," Gibbs replies, though his tone makes her feel like she's stated the most obvious thing in the world. She narrows her eyes at the man. He is quite the character. Various rumors she's heard abut him over the years float through her mind. She tries to weigh fiction from fact, but with him anything seems possible. Something tells her she'd never weed out the full truth.

"Didn't you say something about buckets of ice water?" Shelley prods as she folds a dishtowel for the third time. The kitchen is already tidy, but busy work is welcome right now. "You strike me as a man of your word."

Gibbs still doesn't look up from his work. "Integrity and self-preservation are two entirely different things."

Shelley can't help but laugh at his deadpan tone. It's true. Up until a few minutes ago, the small house did nothing to mask the sounds from above. Shelley found herself banging around in the kitchen, making unnecessary noises with pots and pans, in order to give her colleagues some modicum of privacy. Apparently, it wasn't something they were particularly worried about.

Upstairs, the shower turns on. Shelley sighs in relief. The hot water situation leaves a lot to be desired so she isn't worried it will be a prolonged experience.

"They'll be down in a few minutes," Gibbs says. "DiNozzo knows I don't make empty threats."

"And yet he has no problem getting his groove on with his boss a floor below," Shelley laughs as she starts to prepare the two missing agents lunch. They probably worked up quite an appetite.

That earns a grin from Gibbs; it adds an appealing twinkle to his eyes. "DiNozzo and David both have issues with proper workplace etiquette."

Shelley raises her eyebrows. "Huh! Never would've guessed," she sasses.

Gibbs chuckles in the direction of the ceiling and stands to clean up the remnants of his lunch. Shelley watches him for a moment, reflecting.

She thinks back to her conversation with Ziva from the night before. The Mossad officer had given a relatively clinical account of her experience so far even in the face of Shelley's many probing questions. But between the cold facts and vague re-telling, it was clear this reunion was weighing on Ziva's mind. The strain across her eyes and slight hitch in her breath revealed her anxiety. Ziva had told Shelley about Tony in charming detail, but had kept her thoughts as to how he might react to her "unanticipated complication" close to the vest. Though she has known the woman for a relatively short time span, days of being stuck in an enclosed space together tend to foster feelings of trust faster than normal. And even if Ziva is still an enigma to her, Shelley can't help but feel fond of the woman and certainly doesn't want to see her hurt by her dreamy partner.

She decides to feel Gibbs out. "How do you think Tony is going to handle the big news?" She tosses the question out casually as she builds a sandwich.

Though she watches Gibbs carefully, her trained eye picks up no discernible reaction. He doesn't make eye contact with her when he answers, "She told you."

Shelley notes the hint of disbelief in his voice, but plows on. She's never been able to resist being a gossip hound. It's how you learn all the interesting secrets.

"We've spent quite a bit of time together these past few days," Shelley responds, trying to convey with a look that she can be trusted with the information. That she has Ziva's best interest at heart. Which is true.

Gibbs studies her. It makes her a bit uncomfortable, his intense stare. She is not normally someone who feels self-conscious, but his steely gaze has that effect. Seemingly finding whatever answer he is looking for, he blinks and goes back to washing his plate. "Tony doesn't let his friends down."

That comforts Shelly and she can't help the grin that tugs at her lips. "And Tony is a very _good friend_ to Ziva."

Gibbs just snorts in response. He starts scouring the sink with a sponge, the back and forth rhythm of the action across the porcelain something more of an absent-minded habit than concentrated effort to clean. Shelly watches him, intrigued.

Silence reigns for a few minutes; Gibbs seems content to wait it out indefinitely. The sink never sparkled so much.

"If you think I'm going to talk any more about this, Agent Griffin, you are sorely mistaken," Gibbs finally says with a quirk of his eyebrows. Shelley laughs, knowing that she was trying to stare some more gossip out of him. Well, the rumors were correct: he is a man of few words, but a dynamic personality nevertheless. Shelley knows enough to quit while she's ahead so rather than push further, she settles for slicing up the last remaining apple in the fridge.

They go back to moving about the kitchen in comfortable silence as they wait for Tony and Ziva.

* * *

Hand in hand, they descend to the kitchen.

Ziva finds herself dragging her feet, knowing that as soon as they are back in Gibbs' presence the lovely spell they've wound around themselves will break. Once again, her time with Tony was much too short, though at least there are no goodbyes to face.

She hopes.

"Wait," Tony whispers and tugs her hand. She stops on the stairs, turns, and finds Tony towering over her. He looks adorably relaxed and happy; a lightness dances in his eyes and floods her with warm affection. She knows he's just as reluctant to leave their safe haven as she is. Every step or two he's stopped her to sneak a kiss. "I'm not ready to go in there yet."

Overwhelmed by the strength of her feelings for him, and in agreement with his reluctance, Ziva backtracks a step so that she's closer in height to Tony and without a word pulls his head down to hers. The kiss is slow, leisurely. There is no ulterior motive, no declarations to be made. Just kissing for the sake of kissing. Their lips slide together in a rhythm that's still too new to be perfect, but that only adds to the excitement. She finds herself shivering at the surprise flutter of Tony's fingertips on her cheek and the sudden swipe of his tongue across her lips. Ziva smiles into Tony's mouth, an action that makes him moan in frustration. She could get used to this.

After a few seconds, they part. Ziva studies Tony and a grin fixed on his face that mirrors her own. "We have to go down there sooner or later. Gibbs is expecting us."

Tony sighs dramatically, dropping his head to nuzzle her shoulder. "You have to promise to tell our kid all about me. Be prolific. Lie. Tell the future hall of famer I went bravely."

Ziva laughs and strokes his neck. She is partly amused by his antics and partly grateful that he seems to have accepted the idea of her pregnancy enough to joke about it. She kisses his cheek. "Gibbs will not kill you, Tony," she purrs into his ear as he tries to hide his face from the world.

"Protect me, supergirl?" He teases with lust-darkened eyes, no longer playing bashful, and draws her body to his. He nips at the tender skin of her neck. She gasps and urges him closer. But, much to her dismay, the assault ends as quickly as it began. Tony lifts his head suddenly. A look of horror dawns his face as something clicks in place. Ziva tries to look sheepish once she senses where this is going.

"Gibbs knows!"

"Yes," she nods, trying to brush the revelation aside by reaching for him again. Tony's hands drop from her hips and he dodges her advance. His mouth opens and closes. She tries to get a read on his expression, but far too many emotions play across his face for her to be accurate.

"You told him first?" And there it is, the note of jealously and hurt in his voice. His eyes narrow.

Ziva rushes to explain. "I had to, Tony. If something were to happen to me…" She trails off for a moment, remembering the struggles of the last few weeks that now seem so far away. Tony remembers, too. His face closes to her examining gaze. She has lost him to his inner demons and that realization causes a sharp pain in her heart. She grabs his hand, urging him to come back to her. She chooses her next words carefully, "I wanted him to be the one to tell you if I could not."

Tony looks away from her. She tries to catch his gaze, eyes pleading. She wants to make him understand that she only did it for his benefit. If something had happened to her along her journey, a very real possibility, she didn't want him to find out through some footnote in her autopsy report. And that's presuming they would've found her body. If something had happened to her, she wanted him to know that she was thinking of him, and of what could've been, to her very last breath.

Finally, Tony looks up at her. The pain in his eyes is unmistakable. But it is no longer his own pain, rather the stormy, ocean-blue of fear and anger. He is scared for her, and what she's been through. Ziva's breath hitches. He touches her cheek gently. "I'm glad I got to hear it from you." Half of the syllables catch in his throat.

Ziva swallows back a sudden onslaught of emotion. She nods sharply.

Tony sighs and pulls her close. Ziva buries her head in his chest.

_To think of what we almost never had. _

After a minute, she takes a deep breath, pushing her emotions back below the surface, and steps away from him. Tony exhales.

"Let's go, Tony," she orders, dragging him along by the hand. There is a sudden sharpness to her tone as she finds herself sliding back into professional mode. "We need to get this over with."

Tony groans as he follows her into the kitchen.

* * *

"Well, well, well," Shelley announces as Tony finds himself being dragged into the kitchen by his partner. He forgot how strong she really is. Agent Griffin's eyebrow is placed high on her forehead as she takes in their appearances, leaving no question that she has their number. Tony rubs his still-damp hair sheepishly. Ziva, always the cool and collected Mossad officer, betrays nothing. "Look who decided to show up to the party."

Tony risks a glance at Gibbs, certain he will find himself staring down the wrong end of a Sig. Thankfully, his boss just sits at the kitchen table, amusement plain on his face.

"Perfect timing, DiNozzo," he says, shifting so Tony can see an open laptop on the table. "Director Vance and I were just discussing your next assignment."

Tony drops Ziva's hand, clears his throat, and puts a good foot of space between them. He shoots the webcam he now realizes is live an annoyed look.

"Ziva!" A voice rings from the laptop's speaker. Gibbs moves aside so that Tony and Ziva can approach the webcam. Gibbs has a satellite link with MTAC. On the monitor, McGee is waving at the camera. "It's so good to see you!"

Ziva smiles tightly. "You too, McGee."

"Officer David, Agent DiNozzo," is all Vance says. Tony folds his arms across his chest in an effort to both look intimidating and to prevent himself from telling the man who shipped Ziva off to what could've been her death how he really feels.

"Director," he spits. Ziva inches closer to him and shifts her weight so that her arm grazes his. Just that hint of her body heat soothes his nerves. She does not speak.

"McGee was filling us in on the investigation so far," Gibbs cuts in, shooting Tony a look that manages to both convey warning and sympathy. "Keep going, Tim," he adds, voice soft.

"Yes, Boss," McGee chirps. "As I was saying, as I was sifting through Mossad's intel, trying to pinpoint the leak, I began to rethink my search parameters. Typically when identifying a leak, one looks for obvious patterns using a matrix design—

"The point, McGee," Gibbs cuts in, sending McGee into a predictable fluster. Tony grins and bumps Ziva with his elbow. She snickers.

"Right, sorry," Tim shakes his head. "Once I analyzed the information…in various ways…looking at who would know just enough information to tip off Yadin, yet still fly below the radar…I was left with one option: Director David's administrative assistant, Janis Katz."

Tony feels Ziva go tense. It's his turn to lean into her.

"Looking specifically at her communications, I determined that she contacted her nephew, Ezra Katz, within hours of the Director's receipt of classified information, including his assignment of Ziva to Yadin's case. Doing a little more digging, we found that Ezra petitioned to be trained by Mossad after his stint in the IDF, but was not accepted. We can connect Ezra and Yadin through various channels shortly thereafter."

Shaking his head, Tony glances at his partner. Outwardly, Ziva looks cool as ever but he can see the pain pinching her eyes. He wonders how well she knows this Janis Katz. He hopes not well. He uncrosses his arms and lets his fingers brush hers. One corner of her mouth turns up and he feels much better.

"So, Yadin manipulated poor, dejected Ezra into getting revenge against Mossad? How much did the pipsqueak get paid?" Tony asks, staring straight into the webcam.

McGee references a file in his hands. "His bank accounts reflect quite a bit. Looks like he was siphoning some off into an account for his aunt as well."

"Money talks," Tony snits. He wonders if that was all it took for someone so close to the Director to turn their allegiance. In MTAC, McGee clicks a few buttons on the computer and they are rewarded with a view of both Ezra and Janis Katz.

Ziva takes a sharp breath. Tony's eyes shift to her. "Ezra Katz was the man behind the camera," she reveals. Her tone betrays no emotion. Tony feels plenty on her behalf, however. His jaw tightens. "Janis Katz has never seemed happy in her position. I warned my father about it once…"

"Looks like she was more than happy to help out her nephew, the aspiring cinematographer," Tony replies, no shortage of venom in his words.

"The bottom line is that we've found the leak. Mossad is monitoring Janis Katz around the clock," Vance cuts in. "She last contacted Ezra three days ago, before we'd pinpointed her, once David had been notified as to Ziva's location. The Director requested a flight to Barcelona." Vance saunters closer to the webcam, toothpick dangling from his lips. Tony fights the urge to somehow jump through the webcam and strangle him.

"Eli David is coming to Barcelona?" Gibbs asks, though the question is more or less rhetorical.

Vance levels his gaze with the camera. "Eli wanted to be informed of his daughter's whereabouts. He is checking into a hotel in Barcelona as we speak."

Shelley lets out a noise of annoyance. Next to Tony, Ziva remains stone-still and is clearly trying to mask any sort of reaction. Tony grits his teeth.

"Ezra Katz?" Gibbs rubs his face, exasperation in his tone. Tony knows he is annoyed that he couldn't run the entire operation as he traveled around the globe. In the few hours he's been away from things, they've clearly gotten out of his control.

"Abby is on it, Boss," McGee assures. "His records give us a bit of run around; he hasn't had a stable presence any one place in recent years. INTERPOL has been notified. We'll let you know if we get any hits on him."

"Do that."

"He will be in Barcelona," Ziva interjects, voice low. "Yadin knows my father is there to receive me. Yadin and his men will be there. I will go meet my father and we can draw Yadin out. That was likely my father's motivation in making the trip."

Tony whips his head at Ziva, mouth dropping open. "Are you _crazy_?"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs warns. Ziva just looks straight ahead. Tony's heart threatens to pound out of his chest. _Not when I just got her back…_

"It is the best solution we have, Tony," Ziva says, crossing her arms. Her voice is smooth and level. She shares a look with Gibbs.

"No, absolutely not," he snaps. He feel his grip on his anger, tenuous to begin with, starting to loosen, but can't find it in himself to care. Ziva can't just walk into danger again, not now.

"I agree," Gibbs says as he gathers up some of his things. Both Tony and Ziva look to him, unsure with whom he is siding. Seeing this, Gibbs nods to Ziva. Tony's stomach drops. "Ziva's right. This is our only option for now. NCIS will be there for back up. We will get this guy."

Tony growls in frustration and starts pacing the room. On a normal day, it irks him when his suggestion gets overruled by Gibbs. But this is not a normal day and Gibbs' acceptance of Ziva's plan is not just irksome, it's downright infuriating-- especially when there is so much more at stake here than just a typical case. This is Ziva's life. His child's life. And if they think he's just going to let them waltz into a trap…

So blinded is he by his own fury that he doesn't notice Ziva has intercepted his path until he walks straight into her. "Dammit, Ziva," he mutters, righting himself when she refuses to move out of his way.

"Tony," she urges when he won't look at her. It's not until she yanks his chin up with her hand that their eyes meet. He finds much of his anger melting away at the pleading look in her eyes. Like he could ever deny her. "I need to do this. We need to take out Yadin if I am ever to be safe again. This is our only option."

Tony sighs. She's right, of course_. Damn crazy ninja_. This is the best way they have to end this once and for all. Ziva drops her hand, knowing she has him. "Fine," he snits, "but I don't have to like it."

"No, you do not," Ziva responds with a smirk. He glares at her for finding this even remotely entertaining and turns back to Gibbs and the webcam with a huff.

"If we take out Yadin, will that be enough?" He addresses Gibbs specifically. He ignores the dark look emanating from his partner for cutting her out of the discussion. The promises of bodily harm are unspoken, but radiate from her posture.

"I think so," Vance responds. "Without Yadin bankrolling a hit, there is little motivation for anyone to go after her."

Tony gives the webcam his best _who the hell asked you?_ look. He doesn't miss the small grin McGee sports in solidarity. Even Ziva takes the opportunity to turn her intimidating stare at Vance.

"It is our best chance, Tony," Gibbs answers his agent. Tony feels a little better when he sees the look in his boss' eyes. He needed to hear it from someone he trusts. Someone who isn't so quick to put himself into the line of fire—unlike his overzealous, trigger-happy partner.

Ziva moves next to him again. He feels her arm brush his and his muscles relax against his wishes. He fixes her with an annoyed stare in response, but finds himself rearranging his expression once he sees her face. Desperation and fear swirl darkly in her eyes. It is a glimpse behind the super assassin mask she typically wears, meant only for him. His resolve softens. He can't help but bend to the unexpected vulnerability. He can't be upset with her any longer. How could he be? She wants this to be over with just as much as he does.

He sighs, defeated. Ziva nods, her face shuttered to him once again.

"All right," she says firmly, once again the picture of order. She nods to Gibbs. "What's the plan?"

* * *

**Okay! I posted it. I'm not super happy with it, but y'all know how I feel about these transition-y pieces. Also, I needed to get the finale nonsense out of my head. I seriously can't decide how I feel about it....I need to watch it again to be sure. On the one hand, it was an amazing piece of work by Cote and Michael...I mean, there were so many emotional layers to their scenes that it will take a whole summer of fic to tease it all out. ;) On the other hand, I'm scared of how much TPTB can eff it up in the fall....but, have faith I guess...? So, yeah, moving on to the next part.... :) I hope you stick with me here!  
**


	17. Barcelona, Part IV

**OMG I am back! Sorry this has been so long in coming...but I'll explain later. Now, on to the reading!**

(17)

Barcelona, Part IV

_Barcelona – The next day_

She hears the door to the closet open and for a moment the room is bathed in fluorescent light. Just as quickly as it came, though, the light is gone as the door closes. She hears footsteps and breathing behind her and does not need to turn around to know who has entered her hiding space.

"You did not have to follow me in here, Tony," Ziva sighs as she straps on a bulletproof vest over her tank top. She ignores Tony's heated gaze as she adjusts her clothing. The man has been trailing her like a little lost puppy all morning. Not that she minds his company, she does not, but was it really necessary for him to follow her into the broom closet?

"But what if you needed help?" He leers at her as she buttons a blouse over the vest, taking care that the vest isn't visible. She finds both garments fitting a little snugly and frowns. She swats Tony's hand away when he tries to reverse her progress.

"Tony," she scolds. It took him only seconds to get into his vest; it just went on over his t-shirt.

He drops his hand and looks appropriately admonished. He takes a step back. Ziva shivers. She doesn't exactly like him trying to paw her while she is gearing up for a mission, but the loss of contact strikes her all the same.

"Should you be helping Gibbs?" She tries to ask rather than demand, relying on Tony's deep and abiding need for Gibbs' approval to give her a little space. As much as she wants to be around him, she needs to concentrate and get her mind on the mission before her.

Tony shrugs. "He seems to have things under control."

It's probably true. Gibbs and Agent Mojarro are coordinating with the Barcelona National Police, putting the final security arrangements into place. Ziva knows that Mossad will have teams in place as well, though their security methods are less conspicuous than the NCIS task force.

"I do not think Gibbs will like us disappearing into a utility closet." Ziva levels Tony with a stare. In fact, Gibbs had found the location for her to gear up but probably did not intend for Tony to follow her into the small, private space. The closet was less for privacy than it was for getting a few moments to compose herself. Tugging at her shirt and vest, she tries to adjust their fit. She double and triple checks the location of her weapons, as well as the placement of her earwig and wrist mic.

"Probably not," Tony concedes, but the faraway look in his eyes tells her that Gibbs is the last thing on his mind right now. Ziva senses the reason for his distraction, likely the same reason he's been tripping over her heels since they began preparing for this operation.

"Tony," she begins, crowding her partner into a shelf of cleaning supplies. He has the good sense to look a little afraid. "You need to stop."

"Stop what?" He plays dumb. Ziva growls in frustration.

"I am going through with this operation! We agreed it is the best, and most efficient, course of action." Ziva begins pacing the small space, unable to look at Tony and his pleading eyes for fear her annoyance will reach epic levels.

"Just because I agreed, under extreme protest, does not mean that I have to like it," Tony folds his arms over his chest. "I think there has to be another way that doesn't involve putting you and baby-on-board in harm's way!"

"We will be constantly in harm's way until we take down Yadin!" Ziva snaps, the never-ending argument wearing on her. In the rare times they have not been strategizing with Gibbs and local NCIS agents or sleeping, Tony has been on her back about the dangers of this mission. It's been a long twenty-four hours.

"There has to be a better option!"

Ziva groans. "So you keep saying and yet you never offer a better option!"

Making a face, Tony pushes off from the shelf he's leaning against and halts her pacing by stepping into her path. "Well, I'm sorry that I don't like the thought of you walking straight into that piece of scum's trap again."

"Are you saying I cannot handle myself? That the beaten up, pregnant woman is too weak?" The words fly out of her mouth and even she is taken aback by how irrational they are. Tony gapes at her, clearly not expecting that turn in the well-worn path of this argument.

"No," he says carefully. He is looking at her like she's a delicate, skittish creature. Ziva wants to take the words back, because she knows that's not what Tony thinks of her, and she certainly doesn't think that of herself…but, they are already out there and instead of laughing at her own craziness, she finds herself wanting to cry instead. _Damn hormones._

Tony is watching her warily. She sidesteps his touch, certain it is one of pity. "No," he begins again, empty hand hovering in the air. "You know that I think you are more than capable…I just…" As he fumbles for words, Ziva's resolve softens. She knows what he's trying to say. What they both have been trying to say all along, but have refrained from saying in favor of antagonizing one another.

"You are worried," she whispers. Tony looks up at her and nods. Seeing the fear in his eyes, she walks straight into his arms. He embraces her.

"To be successful, one must enter an operation clear of mind and righteous of heart," she recites something one of her Mossad instructors once said. "Fear clouds one's judgment."

Tony snorts, a shaky, watery sound. "Right. Well, I'm working on the clear-headed thing, and I know ours is the righteous side, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared. I'm also angry as hell and cannot wait to take these dirt bags down, so I admit I'm a little excited, too."

Ziva smiles. "Wow, Tony, I was not aware you could feel so many emotions at once. I am impressed."

"Ha ha," Tony deadpans, squeezing her tight. Dropping a kiss on her head, he pulls back from her embrace. "I just cannot wait for this to be over with."

"Me too," Ziva affirms and laces her fingers through his. "And it will be, tonight." Then, as an after thought, she adds, "And I'm sorry for snapping at you."

Tony nods. "And I'm sorry for being petulant and annoying."

Ziva smirks. "Apologizing for existing in general then?"

Tony glares at her. "I think the pregnancy hormones have warped your brain, making you think you are funnier than you actually are. Please be reminded, _I'm_ the comic genius around here."

Ziva huffs and punches him in the arm. Tony exaggerates an injury.

"You know, Ziva," he says in a goofy tone once he has recovered from her love tap. "That was our first fight."

"Our _first_ fight?"

Tony hurries to amend his statement. "Well, not our first fight in general, but our first as…" He trails off, realizing his remark has hit an unexpected roadblock. "Whatever it is that we are now."

Ziva's eyebrows rush to her hairline. At her expression, Tony quickly backpedals.

"Wait! That sounded bad…I didn't…." He gestures madly at the air, searching for the magical words that will make it all better.

Ziva takes pity on him. "It's okay, Tony—

Tony ignores her overture for peace. "Dammit! I had this whole witty remark about make-up sex planned and I went and stepped on my own line!"

Ziva gives him a strange look. Some things about Tony she will never understand.

Off her expression, Tony's face falls then immediately brightens. "Did I just get us into another fight? Can I use my line once we make up from that one?"

Ziva just rolls her eyes. "Save it for some other time," she tries to bring him back around to the realm of adult discussion and his previous faux pas with one strategically arched eyebrow. "And about what you said before—it's okay. We haven't exactly had the time to talk about…where we stand…yet."

She, too, finds herself choking over the word relationship. It's a strange concept to wrap her head around. A relationship with Tony. They already have a relationship, of course, as partners and friends and now something more…but how to define it in a word? Boyfriend? Lover? They both sound trite and not at all encompassing of the depth of her feelings. And why does that make her more nervous than anything else that's happened between them so far?

"Talking," Tony scrunches up his nose. "My favorite."

"Yes, Tony," Ziva smirks, pushing aside her own issues on the subject for now, "believe me, I know. But it is best we give ourselves time to think. I, for one, have not had the time to contemplate how I feel about things, really…"

It's the truth. She's been relying on instinct, on what feels right. But the tidal wave of emotion that's been carrying her of late is bound to break eventually and she needs to sit down and decide on what, rationally, is the best course of action for her future. Their futures. Their child's future.

Tony is looking at her strangely. "You don't know how you feel about me?" His voice sounds very small.

The insecurity in Tony's face sends a pain straight through her heart. Words from his email suddenly tumble to the forefront of her mind. That he even doubts she feels the same is strange to her. Though she hasn't quite decided how she feels about her life changing in the drastic manner it has, she has never doubted her love for Tony. No, that has been a constant for a long time now.

"I _know_ how I feel about you, Tony," Ziva says firmly, cupping his face in her hands. She urges him to read the intensity in her eyes. His entire body relaxes under her touch.

"Oh yeah?" And the cocky swagger returns. His hands find her hips.

Not about to let her original point go, Ziva rushes to explain. "But let us not pretend this is how we thought things would go—

"I know, but—

Ziva's voice hits a hysterical register. She breaks away from Tony. "This is really not the time to be bringing this all up. I know how I feel about you, Tony, but after everything that has happened…everything that has _changed_…"

It's Tony's turn to frown. "Do you think anything has changed how I feel about you?"

"I…I don't know…" Ziva looks away from his penetrating stare; those chameleon eyes a sudden deep emerald that makes it impossible for her to not spill everything she's thinking. Does she know how he feels? She assumes, or rather hopes, it's something close to the strength of her own feelings, but how is she to really know?

The scent of industrial grade cleaner is still in her nose and the light bulb overhead casts a strange orange glow over the room. Just outside their closet, Gibbs and a team of NCIS agents are waiting to take her to meet the man that tried to torture and kill her. This is not the time or place to be having such a heavy conversation. This is not the time to be worrying about how Tony feels about her.

"Ziva!" Tony grabs her hand, ignoring her when she tries to yank it away. "Jesus! When I saw that video of you on the news, it felt like someone ripped my heart out!"

Ziva feels some of her insecurities ease at his words, his tone of voice. He saw the video? Her own heart clenches when she imagines what he went through…if the situation was reversed…well, she hardly wants to think about that now.

She finally lifts her head to meet his gaze. A familiar warmth moves over her body. "I fought back because of you, Tony. It was your voice in my head that told me to keep going."

Pain washes across Tony's face. His whole body shudders with the breath he takes. Then, he blinks, and looks at her with a brilliant smile on his face. Ziva's heart pounds in her chest, reading the map of this conversation in his eyes. She starts to panic.

He waggles his eyebrows. "I've got something to tell ya, _Zee-v_a."

She slams her hand over his mouth before he can open it. His eyebrows shoot up in alarm; he licks her hand. Ziva ignores this and gives him her most threatening look. "No! Do not say it! Not in front of the mops and buckets!"

Tony escapes her grasp. "What? I think they are mature enough to handle it. The floor wax on the other hand…"

Ziva lunges in his direction. Tony winces.

"Jeez, crazy chick! I know it's not the most romantic of locations, but I didn't exactly think you were the sunset and flowers-required type of girl."

"I'm not!" Ziva shoots back, indignant. "But I would also prefer this conversation wait until we are not about to embark on a dangerous mission, and maybe somewhere that does not smell like cleaning supplies and dirty water." She eases the pinched up expression on Tony's face with a quick kiss on his cheek. "You may tell me later, once this is over."

"Ohhhh-kay," Tony says, looking at her as if she were insane. She just might be. But his near confession is enough for now, and once they do finally get their feelings out in the open, she wants adequate time and space to express them. And, honestly, while she doesn't need a sunset, would flowers be too much to ask? "But, for the record, you were the one who started the conversation in the first place."

She opens her mouth to argue that point when a loud bang on the door makes them both jump.

"David! DiNozzo! Out here, now!"

"Yes, boss!" Tony barks back. He takes a moment to look her over, eyes filled with concern. "You ready?"

Ziva takes a deep breath and nods. Ready as she'll ever be.

"Let's get this over with then," Tony mutters as he ushers her out of the closet. Ziva finds herself leaning into the touch at the small of her back.

Before she acknowledges Gibbs' impatient expression, she turns to whisper in Tony's ear, "Just so you know, I like wildflowers, hyacinths and tulips. Never roses."

Tony shakes his head at her. "Nutty ninja."

* * *

"We've got eyes and ears, Ziva." Gibbs' voice crackles over her earwig. "You read?"

"Loud and clear," Ziva affirms as she enters the nearly abandoned café. She notes its prime location, tucked into a plaza off the beaten track. There are few exits and few patrons, all of whom are most assuredly NCIS or local LEOs, and big, open windows on one side that likely offer optimal viewing for their surveillance and SWAT teams.

Her father sits alone at a table in the center of the café. Their eyes meet. She hesitates.

*

"Ziva's in, boss," Tony remarks, gaze fixed on the monitor in the car between them.

Gibbs gives him a look. "Yeah, I see that, DiNozzo."

Tony ignores the Marine. He watches as Ziva's eyes scan the café. He observes the man seated at the center, the infamous Director David. His palms break out into a cold sweat. He isn't quite sure how he feels about Ziva's father-- afraid, mostly, and also distrustful of a man who could ever willingly put Ziva in perilous situations. Eli David sits calmly at his table, barely reacting to his daughter's presence despite the fact that she nearly died.

Agent Shelley Griffin's voice comes on over the radio. "No sight of our suspects yet."

"Copy that," Gibbs responds. "Keep looking."

*

"Papa," Ziva greets Eli David as she approaches the table. This reunion is nothing like her previous reunion with Gibbs and Tony. Even her quick hello with McGee contained more warmth.

Eli nods at her. "Ziva, my daughter, I'm glad to see you alive."

Ziva smiles, pleased with that small admission. As she nears a chair, he stands. They kiss each other's cheeks and sit back down.

"Wow, that was some reunion," Tony's voice teases in her ear. Ziva grimaces and pounds her palm over the mic concealed in her jacket sleeve. She winces at the resulting interference in her own ear, but is satisfied when she hears Tony yelp.

"Sorry, Gibbs," she mutters into her wrist. He chuckles in response. Ziva ignores Tony's continues chattering as she addresses her father.

"You are looking well, Ziva," Eli makes small talk that somehow does not seem awkward as he gestures for a waiter to bring Ziva a drink. "Your injuries?"

"Are healing," she responds tightly, hand unconsciously sweeping across the wound on her neck.

Eli stares at her for a long moment and Ziva finds it difficult not to squirm. She is able to hold up under the most intense of interrogation techniques, but one probing gaze from her father and she feels uneasy. She averts her eyes, scanning the room again.

"You have teams on the ground, yes?" She fiddles with the tea the waiter places in front of her.

Eli leans back in his chair. "Two, plus more waiting to be activated as needed."

"Coordinating with NCIS?" Ziva asks, not recalling mention of Mossad teams in previous planning.

"As needed," Eli responds, eyes dark.

Ziva nods, but says nothing. She knows that no matter what happens with the NCIS-coordinated mission, Yadin will not make it out of this alive. That is the way of Mossad.

"He tried to kill my daughter." Eli's voice is breezy as he flicks a fly off his untouched pastry.

Ziva folds her arms across her chest. "Many people have tried to kill me." She can't help the accusation that leaps into her voice. "Yadin tried to betray Mossad secrets. That is worse. For _that_ he will die."

"Yadin's crimes are many," Eli answers.

*

"Wow, if this is what David family dinners are like, I have to invite myself to Tel Aviv more often," Tony can't resist whispering into his mic. He smiles at the resulting annoyance that flashes across Ziva's face on the monitor. He's glad. Eli David is clearly a piece of work and he doesn't like the tension he sees tightening Ziva's body. He watches Ziva cover the mic concealed at her wrist making the next daddy-daughter exchange too muffled to hear.

He's expecting the ensuing sting of Gibbs' hand on his scalp. He's not sure but he swears the corner of Ziva's lip perks up on the monitor. He rubs his head.

"Ah, missed that, boss!"

Gibbs looks at him askance. "Plenty more where that came from."

Tony gives the man an uneasy smile and slumps in his seat.

"Two suspects have been spotted walking from the east end of the plaza toward the café," Shelley's voice comes over the radio. "We have a positive ID on Ezra Katz and the second suspect from the video. No sight of Yadin yet."

Scanning out the window of their car, Tony spots the two men. He gestures to Gibbs.

"Got 'em, Griffin." Gibbs pulls out his satellite phone, dialing quickly. "McGee, we've got eyes on two of our suspects. I need an ID on our unknown perp."

Tony cranes his neck to get a better view of the dead-men walking. He half hopes that Mossad, in all its secret-shrouded glory, will take over the mission and remove the two men where they stand. He would really be okay with that.

Gibbs hangs up the phone. Tony looks at him with questioning eyes, wondering if any new intel has come from MTAC where McGee and Vance are following the mission. Gibbs shakes his head.

Squinting at a man in over-the-top tourist gear, Tony feels a surge of adrenaline. He grabs a pair of binoculars and confirms his suspicion. "Gibbs! Yadin, nine o'clock."

Gibbs verifies his sighting and radios it in to the teams.

"Do you want us to take them?" Shelley's voice fills the car. Tony looks to Gibbs expectantly. Gibbs stays silent for a long moment.

"Teams stand-by. Apprehend suspects on my signal."

*

"Whatever you may think, Ziva," Eli says in a quiet, measured voice. "I did not expect the outcome of this mission." He purses his lips and looks away from her. "I underestimated Yadin."

Ziva's stomach flips. It's more of an apology than she ever expected from her father. She's surprised at the relief she feels. She doubted Eli suspected the true motivations for Yadin's behavior, she is equally as guilty of missing those, but to hear it confirmed allays any lingering blame she felt towards her father.

Ziva opens her mouth to respond, but shuts it quickly at the words she hears in her ear. Seeing her reaction, Eli meets her gaze.

"Yadin and his men have been sighted. Yadin is approaching the café; his men are circling the plaza," Ziva reports, sitting up straight in her chair. Heart to heart conversations with her father will have to wait; it is, as Tony always says, show time.

Eli frowns. "They mustn't take his men. Yadin is using them as cover to reach our location. They take the men, he runs."

Ziva nods. Gibbs is revealing a similar train of thought to the NCIS teams on the other end of the communication unit.

"Let him come here, Gibbs," Ziva says. "His men will not be secure in our web until he reaches his target."

*

"_Trap_, Ziva," Tony hisses into his mic. "We are law enforcement, not spiders."

On the monitor, he sees Ziva narrow her eyes.

Gibbs barks some orders over the radio and Tony fidgets in his seat. He is itching to jump out of the car and catch Yadin for himself. He watches uneasily as the man approaches the café.

"Dammit," he mutters, "can't we just take them out now? There's like fifty of us to the three of them. I'm sure we can catch them." He jiggles his legs, fingers tapping on the door. Gibbs stares him down.

"Be patient, Tony," Ziva's smooth voice fills his ears. It has a decidedly calming effect on his nerves, even if it doesn't quench his desire to rip Yadin limb from limb.

"Sorry if I don't like the idea of him getting near you again!"

"Oh, I do not mind it at all." Ziva's voice is even smoother now. He watches a wicked grin pull across her face. A hand briefly flutters across one of her concealed weapons.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Easy there, Rambo. I had to fall for the bloodthirsty assassin, didn't I? God! You're going to give me a freaking heart attack one of these days!"

"Tony!" Ziva warns into the mic, and he sees Eli David raise his eyebrows in interest at her sharp tone of voice. Tony knows immediately what the warning is for.

"I didn't say it, Ziva! Calm down! I got your message loud and clear before—no danger, no cleaning supplies, lots of daisies." He shakes his head, still not understanding why Ziva seems hell bent on keeping him from admitting how he feels for her until the right time. Is there even such a thing as the right time? Can't he just say the words and be done with it? Three little words put out into the world; it's not like he won't ever say them again. And it's not like he was really about to confess his love for her over a comm. unit with Gibbs sitting two feet away.

Ziva makes a face, which earns another curious look from her father. Tony chuckles when she realizes her mistake. "I told you flowers are not required," she snaps. Then, once she has composed herself, "Besides, it will not be me doing my job that will give you a heart attack. It will be all those burritos and doughnuts you insist on consuming."

Tony's stomach growls at the very thought of a greasy, delicious treat. Next to him, Gibbs chuckles. Tony shoots him a dirty look then, seeing what's happening on the monitor, feels his stomach abandon the idea of food and dive for the floor.

*

"Yadin is approaching the café," Gibbs alerts her. Ziva nods to her father and they both look up. Ziva hears more orders filter through her ear.

"Griffin, you've still got a go on the unnamed suspect?" A brief pause, then, "Take him down."

"DiNozzo, you've got Ezra," Gibbs barks.

Ziva hears Tony take a deep breath. "But, boss…" She knows he would rather stay and back her up. She also knows that Gibbs' order has two motivations: first, to see if Tony can keep his focus on the mission and order at hand rather than her, and second, if things are to go south, to keep Tony from witnessing it.

"Do it!" Gibbs shouts, causing her to jump in her seat.

"On it, boss!" Tony snits and she hears a car door slam. Her feed from his mic goes suddenly silent as he moves out of range and her body tenses with the loss of communication. She feels adrift without Tony's constant chatter in her ear, though she knows Gibbs is still there.

Her father clears his throat and she is ready and alert once more. Just in time to see Yadin enter the café. A burst of adrenaline courses through her veins. In a flash, she is on her feet with her weapon drawn.

"Hands up, Yadin!"

"My isn't this a happy reunion?" Yadin drawls as he complies with her request. Ziva swears when she sees why; the bastard has a gun in his hand and points it at his own temple. "You wouldn't shoot a suicidal man, would you?"

*

"Freeze, you son of bitch!" Tony shouts, gun pointed at Ezra Katz. "NCIS! You're under arrest!"

Two other agents have his six, but Tony is determined to take down Mr. Cinematographer on his own. Ezra looks at him with a familiar deer-in-the-headlights expression. Clearly, the young man was not expecting to be caught. His muscles twitch. Tony swears, knowing what comes next.

Ezra turns tail and sprints down the street.

"Dammit!" Tony shouts as he darts after him. He hates when they run.

The chase is short lived.

What Ezra has on Tony in age, he lacks in height. When coupled with the insane amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his long legs pump in quick strides to close the distance between fugitive and pursuer.

Breathing hard, Tony dodges two wayward pedestrians in his pursuit. He may have even knocked over an old lady, but he can't think about that now. Ezra loses more ground when he risks a glance back at his chasers and stumbles in his stride. With one last grunt and heave, Tony pushes off his left foot and takes a flying leap toward the traitor.

They both tumble to the ground hard. Tony winces as his skin scrapes against the concrete. Thankfully, Ezra broke most of his fall.

"Ezra Katz, you are under arrest for being one sorry waste of human flesh," Tony pants as he cuffs the struggling man. Ezra spits, sputters, and curses at him in a language he doesn't understand. "Blah, blah, blah, save it for Gitmo. I hear it's lovely this time of year." Tony snaps cuffs on the perp with little regard for his comfort. Ezra yelps.

Pulling Ezra with him, Tony struggles to his feet. He's sure to rest as much of his weight as possible on the resisting perp. He shoves the traitor to the two agents that have since caught up with him. "Get Prefontaine here out of my sight before I decide to repay him for putting his dirty paws on my partner."

"Yes, sir," one of the agents says, gripping Ezra tightly. The agent winks at Tony as he manhandles Ezra to a waiting squad car. The other agent, apparently fluent in Hebrew, starts rattling off a speech that finally shuts the yapping suspect up.

Tony dusts off his hands and jogs back to Gibbs' car. He hopes Ziva is having just as much good luck with Yadin.

*

Ziva's eyes dart from her father to Yadin. Eli has not yet stood, looking cool and collected in his chair. Ziva shifts on her feet and narrows her eyes. She does not lower her gun.

"Go ahead and shoot yourself, Yadin," Eli says in Hebrew. "You'll save my daughter the bullet."

"Put the gun down," Ziva warns in English. She watches as several agents, including Gibbs, circle the front of the café.

Yadin doesn't acknowledge her. Instead, he shifts his gaze to her father. He speaks in his native tongue. "I am just sorry that I did not get to inflict the same grief upon you, David, as you did to me."

"Your daughter died serving her country honorably. She was a good agent, unlike her father." Eli takes a sip of tea. "You can put the gun down, Yadin. You know very well you signed your own death certificate by coming to meet with me. These American agents may want to arrest you, but you've already been tried in the eyes of Israel. You will not make it out of here alive."

Ziva's heart pounds when she sees the agitating effect Eli's words have on Yadin. Her trigger finger twitches. Her eyes dart between the two men.

Yadin chuckles, a dry and soulless sound. "You are right, David," he replies with a smile. He lowers the gun to the floor. Ziva it kicks it out of reach. "But I have no reason to go on living. You murdered my Noa. I will see her again soon enough."

"Your daughter chose to join Mossad. She knew the risks." Eli stands now, moving toward Yadin as if to apprehend him. Ziva follows his lead.

Yadin laughs again; the look in his eyes is distant and wild. "Mossad has its own definition of choice. Noa was recruited. The decision was never hers alone."

Ziva's heart begins to thunder in her ears at his words. She knows all too well the fine art of psychological manipulation at which Mossad is so adept. She knows how Noa was likely subtly pressured and cajoled into believing a life at Mossad was everything she had ever dreamed of. Ziva should know; she heard the same stories, received the same lectures of patriotism and service her whole life.

But still, it's always her finger that pulls the trigger; it is her hands that bring death.

It is her choice. It _was_ her choice.

Ziva realizes a second too late that she has become absorbed in her own thoughts. Whatever Yadin was saying is lost to her; she only now sees that the man is sobbing. He is muttering a confession to his absent daughter.

Eli's face remains stone. Eli and Ziva continue to close in on the desperate man.

Just as she lunges forward to take him, all hell breaks lose.

Yadin suddenly goes for another weapon. She hears her father shout her name as she tries to get a shot off.

But Yadin is moving too quickly.

He dodges Eli and springs at her. The feel of his rough hands on her again, the sour smell of his breath in her nose, makes her want to vomit. But her reflexes kick in and she fights back.

She gives in for a half a second as he grapples with her. He senses her submission and goes in for the final push that will take her down when she makes her move. In one swift motion, she ducks low and swings at his legs, turning all his forward momentum back on him. She escapes his grasp as he hits the floor with a thud.

A gun goes off.

Breathing heavily, Ziva stands back as she watches a brilliant red flower bloom on Yadin's chest.

A light touch on her hand makes her look up. Eli David studies her with worried eyes; it is the same expression she saw once before, when she broke her arm falling out of a tree.

"You okay, my dear?" He asks as he holsters his gun. Ziva glances between her father and the dying traitor on the ground, trying to piece together the last few moments.

"Fine," she answers truthfully. They had him. Her father shot him anyway. She doesn't have the energy or inclination to care.

Her father wraps an awkward arm around her body as they are swarmed by NCIS agents. Yadin clutches his bleeding heart and looks skyward.

Ziva watches a serene look pass over his face as his eyes flutter closed.

* * *

**...and scene. Sorry once again for the delay in posting. I moved, had sketchy internet access, got stuck on writing another fic, and had major writer's block here. Then, one I finally got writing, my computer crashed and I lost EVERYTHING (sooo depressing!). The silver lining there being I wrote up a lot of the remaining dialogue by hand, so now it's just a matter of writing up the last few parts. If I stick to my outline, it should be 5 more parts including an epilogue. I hope to get moving along on the rest; this part was the hardest for me to write (y'all know my feelings on the action side of things). I'm excited for the rest, and to finally finish this up (my longest story ever!). **

**Thanks for all your kind words and for waiting so patiently for this. You guys rock! :)  
**


	18. Barcelona, Part V

**Ack! The speed at which summer is passing by is seriously depressing. This part sort of overlaps with the last chapter, the showdown from Tony's POV. (I'm so in love with Tony lately, it's ridic. But, then again, aren't we all?) Also, this part is dedicated to my daddy dearest whose birthday is today. Daddy dearest will hopefully never read this because that would be awkward (what, with the sexytimes and stuff) but nevertheless, this goes out to him. Happily, he is nothing like the dad we encounter in this chapter. My dad has been nothing but unconditionally loving and supportive of me; he is my true champion in life. So, rock on, Dad. Director David was a little crazy to write because I started this way before the finale arc and, as such, the happenings here are quite AU (well, obviously). So, I stuck with my original vision for Eli, even if that has been altered by the show canon. Oh wells. More later... Enjoy.  


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(18)

Barcelona, Part V

_Barcelona – The next day_

Tony makes it back to the café just in time to see his partner and the Director of Mossad circling Levi Yadin.

Tony's eyes narrow. He draws his gun as he watches them close in on the caged man. He doesn't like the look of wild desperation in the Yadin's face. Not at all.

When he sees Ziva lunge for Yadin and Yadin go for a weapon in response, his heart catches in his throat. He tries to breathe evenly as he lines up his shot on Yadin. It's no use. Yadin is grabbing at Ziva and there is no way to take out Yadin without potentially hitting his partner.

"C'mon, ninja girl," he mutters as he watches Ziva grapple with the older man. It takes all his restraint not to charge into the fray. He reminds himself that Ziva can handle it. Hell, he's seen Ziva take down men twice Yadin's size without breaking a sweat. But when he sees pain flare across his partner's face, when he sees her lose ground in the scuffle, he rocks forward on his feet. His vision tunnels, clouds with red.

_That rat bastard is hurting her! MY partner! MY kid!_

Tony's breath comes in short pants as he digs his heels into the ground, tightening his grasp on his Sig. Sweat breaks out on his face. _Diving into the mix could make it worse for Ziva. Not until absolutely necessary._ He searches desperately for a shot. It's all he can do not to fly out of his skin.

_C'mon, Ziva!_

He's never been so fucking scared in his life.

"Easy, DiNozzo," Gibbs murmurs at his side. The familiar voice helps him to de-escalate a little. He blinks. Eli David waves off the NCIS agents who close in on the scuffle, training his own gun on the man.

And then the momentum swings. Tony watches a fierce look of concentration shine on Ziva's face as she suddenly attacks. Yadin hits the floor.

It's over.

_Scrappy girl. She was just letting him think he had her!_

Tony exhales.

Then: a gunshot.

Eli David stands over Yadin's body, smoking gun in his hand. His face is the picture of calm indifference; Tony sees a striking family resemblance there. He whistles under his breath and flicks his gaze towards Gibbs, whose jaw twitches in response. Gibbs signals for the team to approach.

"David makes you look warm and fuzzy by comparison, boss," he says with an uneasy grin as he hurries to get to Ziva's side. She's staring blankly at Yadin's unmoving body; Eli's arm is wrapped around her frame.

Gibbs gives him a look. "David just shot the man while he was down."

Tony shrugs. "Looked to me like he was going for another weapon."

"Well, my eyesight is going," Gibbs replies as he directs an agent to secure the scene. "What the hell do I know?" He winks at Tony and pulls out his satellite phone.

Tony smirks as he steps around Yadin's body, hardly sparing it a glance. Perhaps Director David took liberties with the whole excessive force thing, but he is not about to lose any sleep over the dead psycho. Instead, he focuses on the woman in front of him.

"Ziva!" He fists his hands to keep from reaching out for her. She is still safe in her father's embrace and somehow touching Ziva in that position seems akin to poking a hungry grizzly bear with a stick. Daddy David is certainly looking at him like he wants to attack. Is the man growling? Tony tries not to shudder under the Director's intense gaze. _He can smell fear!_

He reminds himself that this is the grandfather of his kid. Who just shot a man to watch him die. _Crap. I'm toast._

Tony shifts on his feet and waits for Ziva to acknowledge him.

"You okay, Ziva?" He finally asks, unable to stand the silence any longer. Her eyes jerk from Yadin's body to meet his. His hand itches to touch her arm, but he settles for trying to express his concern for her with a gaze.

"I am fine," she assures him, though she looks anything but. Her eyes are bright, and he can't quite determine why. She spares one last glance at Yadin, takes a deep breath, and looks to Tony again. This time, she has a carefully collected expression on her face. Tony frowns.

Eli squeezes her shoulder and releases his daughter from his arms. Ziva shifts into her own personal space. Tony just stands there awkwardly. He glances around for some indication as to what he should be doing right now. He was hoping for a brief moment of celebration with his lady, but apparently the mood isn't quite right for that.

Then, he sees just the person he needs. He signals him over.

Ziva notices and scowls. "No! Tony! _I am fine_."

Tony ignores her plea and gestures for the medic to look over his partner. "You don't know that, Ziva. You've only been out of the hospital for a week. Let's not take any chances, okay?" He tries to impart meaning onto his last sentence with a look. Just let her try and argue with him now. Ziva's scowl deepens.

"Tony…." Ziva whines. He has to smirk. It is not often the assassin whines and it never fails to amuse him. She narrows her eyes at him. "You will pay for this."

"You were recently hospitalized, ma'am?" The medic asks in accented English. He doesn't wait for her response before he radios someone.

"Do not call me, ma'am!" Ziva snaps and stomps her foot. The medic ignores her. Eli takes in her actions, amusement playing on his face. He says something in Hebrew to his daughter and though Tony cannot understand the words, Eli's tone leaves no question as to the directive he's giving. Ziva stares daggers into the distance.

"Problem here?" Gibbs asks as he approaches the group.

"My daughter is acting very much like she did when I told her we would not be getting a pony," Eli chuckles. "I believe she was six at the time." Ziva sinks deeper into her pout. "She is, of course, refusing medical attention."

Gibbs says nothing, but the look he fixes on Ziva is enough to make her relent. She huffs and crosses her arms across her chest.

"Ziva wanted a pony?" Tony can't stop the giant grin that sprouts on his face, thinking of his little ninja begging daddy for a pony. The image is irresistible.

Neither Eli nor Gibbs responds to his comment, or seems to find the idea amusing. Their loss, he supposes. Tony watches as Ziva follows the medic away from the group, being sure to ram her elbow into his side as she walks by. Tony doesn't react. He has no guilt about making her seek medical attention.

"Ziva will be back shortly, I am sure," Eli says, tracking Ziva's progress across the scene.

"Yeah, well…" Tony begins, but his words trail off when he realizes he probably shouldn't continue his thought as to _why_ Ziva should get more involved care.

Gibbs rescues him by clearing his throat. "Vance wants this scene closed ASAP." He gives Eli a significant look.

"Mossad will assume control of the crime scene and custody of the living suspects," Director David responds.

Tony's eyes dart between the two men. He's never known Gibbs to give ground but—

"Fine."

--there's a first time for everything. Still, Tony is confused. He tries to meet Gibbs' eye, but the Marine is too busy staring down the Director of Mossad.

"Wait. Clarify something for me. We run the op. We rescue Ziva. We catch the bad guys. And Mossad gets the glory?" Tony doesn't back down from the dark look David levels at him.

"There is no glory, Agent DiNozzo," Eli retorts. "This is our mess to clean up. The matter will be dealt with quietly and efficiently. Mossad does not boast."

"Right," Tony says, though he knows his expression conveys the facetiousness his tone lacks. He doesn't bother to ask how Eli David knows his name; Eli probably knows what color boxers he has on as well. Gibbs gives him a warning look. "Whatever. Less paperwork for me."

That earns him a Gibbs-smack upside the head. Eli smirks, a decidedly menacing expression, and turns away from them. He pulls out his cell phone and begins barking orders in Hebrew.

Tony shrugs. "Well, I guess our work here is done." He searches for Ziva in the crowd.

"Not so fast, DiNozzo," Gibbs says, shoving a camera into Tony's hands. "Vance still wants a full report from our team."

"But," Tony frowns, "why?"

"Insurance," Gibbs snarls.

"I hate politicians," Tony grumbles, taking a few random snaps.

"You and me both." Gibbs adjusts his cap before walking away.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Tony finally finishes photographing the scene. David's Mossad teams have since descended on the place and taken over most of the forensic work. Tony has seen probie local LEOs do a more thorough job.

He searches around for Ziva, but comes up empty. The ambulance that was on stand-by before is now missing and he doesn't see any medics either. Panic begins to gnaw at his chest. He scans the café and surrounding area desperately.

"You done?" Gibbs pops up behind Tony, startling him. Most of the NCIS agents and local LEOs have cleared the scene, making it less conspicuous to passerby.

"Yeah," Tony answers distractedly. _Where is she?_ Ten minutes ago he'd seen her sitting in a chair, talking to the medics. She'd looked a little better than she had ten minutes before _that_, with the color and animation returning to her face. That was a good sign. "Have you seen Ziva, boss?"

Gibbs lifts the crime scene tape up, jerking his head in the direction of where Eli David stands with a few Mossad officers. Tony gives Gibbs a questioning look. Ziva is not standing with them.

"Medics took her to the hospital," Gibbs tosses off as he leads Tony towards Eli.

Tony stops dead in his tracks. Fear grips him cold.

Realizing his agent is no longer behind him, Gibbs turns around. He gives Tony a strange look. "She's fine, DiNozzo. Just a precaution. She said she would catch up with us at the hotel later."

"Hotel?" Tony asks, his confusion pushing aside his rising annoyance. For now.

"I took the liberty of booking you a room at the Hotel Arts," Eli interjects as they approach. His eyes meet Tony's; Tony tries not to flinch under their examination. "Consider it a thank you for rescuing my daughter and catching the bad guys."

Tony smiles sheepishly at the Director's teasing tone. "Oh. Right. Thank you, sir."

Eli just nods. "Two of my best officers escorted Ziva to the hospital. They also must record her official statement. I would not expect her back for several hours."

Tony frowns. The last thing Ziva needs right now is to relive the stress of the past few weeks. He opens his mouth to argue the point, having no qualms about going head to head with the Director of a foreign intelligence agency over the well-being of his partner and baby-to-be.

Though, before he can speak, Gibbs saves his foot from most assuredly being inserted into his mouth. "Director, Ziva's been through enough the past few days. The statement can wait."

Tony is often amazed by the things Gibbs seems to get away with saying. Tony has a feeling if such words flew out of his mouth, he'd be face first on the pavement.

"Let's leave that decision between Ziva and the medical doctors, Agent Gibbs," Eli replies coolly. Tony bites his lip to keep from disagreeing. The Ziva in his mind threatens to kick his butt if he pisses off her father.

But an imaginary Ziva doesn't have all that much power. Tony speaks anyway. "What hospital is she at? I'd like to check her status."

"She will be returned to the hotel once she has been cleared, Agent DiNozzo," Eli's voice is now thick with warning. "I suggest that's where you go. I need to shut down my crime scene." With that, Eli turns and walks away.

Tony mutters a choice phrase under his breath.

"C'mon, Tony," Gibbs stalks off toward their vehicle. "There can't be that many hospitals in the area, right?" Gibbs winks at him.

Beaming, Tony jogs the rest of the way to the car. "I like the way you think, boss!"

* * *

It's early evening by the time Ziva is escorted to the hotel. She isn't surprised when her car pulls up to a beautiful building just outside of the city center, on the shores of the Mediterranean. Her father has never been opposed to making his connections work to his comfort and advantage. Without a doubt, this is the best hotel in the area.

"I'll escort you to your room, Officer David." Mossad Officer Meir opens the car door for her with a smirk. She glares at him.

"That is not necessary," she says shortly, grabbing her room key from his hand. She strides through the lobby of the hotel, barely registering the impeccable modern décor of the space. She hears the telltale click of Meir's shoes on the marble floor as he follows her.

Ziva is irritated.

And, worst of all, she's not sure why.

Yadin is dead. The case is over. After spending more time than she would like being poked and prodded and lectured, both she and the baby were given a clean bill of health and discharged. Her report has been given to Mossad. She is officially off-duty and minutes away from a hot shower and comfortable bed.

She has nothing to be irritated about.

And yet, ever since she watched the light go out of Yadin's eyes, she has been nettled by an unexpected thorn in her side.

Stepping into the elevator, she jabs at the button for her floor. Meir follows her into the space. She gives him a dirty look.

And then, even though she's in a fancy hotel, in a beautiful city, no longer being chased by a madman, and decidedly not by herself, she is suddenly struck by a pang of loneliness.

She stares at the stainless steel of the elevator doors and sees not her vague reflection staring back, but the future unfolding.

Unconsciously, she runs a hand over the barely discernable bump low in her abdomen.

_What are you going to do now, Ziva?_

Her internal voice returns to taunt her. She shifts on her feet. She has absolutely no clue what comes next.

She glances sidelong at Meir, who just looks straight ahead.

Well, there's one thing she knows for certain. One action she can take.

"Officer Meir, please take me to see the Director," she orders, shoving her room key in her pocket.

Officer Meir spares her a wry grin. "Of course, Officer David," he responds, tone a little too proud. He selects another button on the elevator panel and they ride the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

"Ziva," her father greets her a few minutes later with a kiss on her cheek. Ziva says nothing, just follows him into the depths of his suite. Eli gestures for the officers in his room to give them privacy. Ziva doesn't wait for an invitation; she sits at the table.

"Your health?" Eli inquires, taking a seat across from her.

Ziva takes a deep breath. Things are about to become very real. This is the first stepping-stone to her new life. This is a leap of faith that she's taking, but now that she's about to jump, she's never felt more clear of mind and spirit.

"That is not what I am here to discuss," Ziva begins, earning a worried look from her father. Not breaking eye contact, Ziva reaches into her pocket and pulls out her Mossad badge. She places it on the table. Next, she removes her standard-issue Glock from her holster and places that on top of it.

Eli's expression doesn't change as she slides her weapon and badge in front of him.

"Ziva…" But the tone of her father's voice is laden with heartbreak.

Ziva is surprised to find her own voice catching in her throat as she speaks. "I'm sorry, Papa," she whispers. "But I must resign from my position in Mossad."

Pushing back her shoulders, Ziva tries not to crumble under the weight of her father's disappointment. His eyes are blacker than she's ever seen them.

"If this is about Yadin…" Eli begins, shaking his head. "We will find you alternate assignments. No undercover work for the foreseeable future."

He pushes the badge and gun back toward Ziva, who in turn pushes them back to her father.

"This is not about Yadin."

Her father's lips curl into a cold grin. Ziva reminds herself to stay firm. "Then what is it about?"

"I wish to return to NCIS." Once the words are out, she feels a weight lift off her shoulders. Images of her team, of Gibbs, McGee, Abby, Jimmy, Ducky, and especially Tony, float through her mind.

"They have offered you a position?" Eli glances down at her badge. Unspoken is the comment that she cannot be a liaison officer without an office with which to liaise.

Ziva bites her lip. "No." Off her father's look, she rushes to continue. "But I will do what is necessary to work there again."

Eli chuckles, though there is little humor in the act. "Ah. Yes. Because I am sure their recruiting office would gladly hire a former Israeli spy."

Ziva's cheeks burn. She feels tears sting the corners of her eyes; her own brilliant idea thrown back in her face like so much dirt. "Agent Gibbs will advocate for me. He wants me back on his team."

She has to believe that it's true. That there will always be a place for her at NCIS. But even if there wasn't, her Mossad lifestyle is not what she wants anymore. _She_ is making the choice for once; this is what she wants, not what anyone is manipulating her into or ordering her to do.

"You would defect from your own country, a common traitor, to work with the Americans?" Eli's tone is cutting; sharp words that are meant to injure. And they do. Ziva sucks in air through her teeth, trying not to cry. "You are no better than Yadin. You are no better than Ari."

"Papa…" she pleads. _I am not a traitor. I am not Yadin. I am not Ari. I love my country. But I cannot do this anymore. _She digs her fingers into her thighs, hard, and uses the pain to center herself. She's making the right choice. She has to stick to it.

_You are an investigator. You are not an assassin. This is your choice._

Eli just stares at her. Ziva swipes at the tears that leak from her eyes, cursing her moment of weakness.

"Why, Ziva? _Why_?"

Ziva blinks. How can she even begin to answer that question? "I…I like who I am when I work there. I feel valuable. I feel at home. I am a strong investigator. My mission is to save lives, not take them."

It's such simple list, and yet she can hardly begin to describe how much it means to her.

"Israel is your _home_," Eli thunders, banging his fist on the table. Ziva jumps; it helps her to swallow the lump that had lodged in her throat.

"Israel is my identity, Papa, but it is not my home anymore." Ziva implores her father to understand with a look. She wants him to see that there is more to life than serving one's country. That she can protect others, but still enjoy a life of her own. Israel will always hold a special place in heart; it is, and always will be, her homeland. But now home has different connotations. Home is where she feels safe and loved and happy. She feels none of those things with Mossad.

In so many ways, NCIS was her saving grace.

Eli studies her for a long moment. Ziva remains strong under his scrutiny. She has made her choice and will not regret it. _How could you regret it? This is what you want with all your heart. What you've wanted since being put on a plane so many months ago._

"There is something you are not telling me, Ziva," Eli murmurs. He rubs his chin, revealing his frustration. "Your resignation is being influenced by personal factors." His tone indicates his distaste for all things weighted by emotion.

With a sigh, Ziva settles into her chair. This is not exactly the manner in which she wanted this conversation to happen, but it's now or never. "Yes. It is."

"Elaborate."

Ziva meets her father's gaze and doesn't waver. "I'm pregnant."

Eli is too practiced in the art of deception to show a reaction to her news. "I see." He looks her up and down, face blank. "Occupational accident?"

Ziva's eyes narrow. Her stomach rolls over at the thought of an intimate relationship with Yadin. "No, Papa. A child conceived out of love."

Eli taps a folder on the table with his fingers; his face twists in an unattractive way. "The American? Anthony DiNozzo?"

A sudden burst of anger slices through Ziva. She finds herself strangely possessive of her burgeoning relationship with Tony. That her father already knows about her feelings for Tony is not surprising; she is reminded of those surveillance photos from years ago, the violation of what had become a sacred friendship. But the sour look on Eli's face, and the manner in which he spits out her partner's name, makes it difficult for Ziva not to launch into a full verbal attack on him. _And it's just like him, isn't it? Thinking he knows you, understands you, from a footnote in your dossier? _For a moment she just breathes deeply, trying to reign in her emotions. Lashing out at her father will not help matters now.

"Yes. Tony is the father," Ziva affirms, voice tight. _Not that it's any of your business_, she wants to add.

"So you will give up your home, your training, your family, to move to a foreign land where you can play house and raise a spoiled American child?" Eli's eyes are blazing.

Ziva clenches her fists. She tries not to rise to her father's challenge; she knows he's trying to get a reaction out of her, trying to expose a weakness.

"_No_," she begins emphatically. "I want to continue to work for NCIS. I want to raise my child where he or she will feel loved, and accepted, and safe. Where he or she will have family, and, most importantly, a father."

"If that is some sort of underhanded comment—

"No, Papa," Ziva interrupts gently. "That's not what I meant to imply." And it wasn't. Her relationship with Tony has nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with love and trust.

"I did my best for you," Eli defends, voice soft. "I did what I thought was right."

Ziva's heart warms. It is not often she feels her father's love; it's a strange, but welcome, sensation. Still, that does not mean she forgives his many transgressions.

"You made me and Ari into killers." She tries to keep the accusation out of her voice, allowing the facts to speak for themselves.

Her father's face remains stony, but his eyes speak worlds of regret. For a long moment, he says nothing.

Ziva goes for the final push. "Let my child have something better, Papa."

And it's the truth. She has barely looked ahead, but that is the bottom line. Anything she does now, any action she takes, will be to make life better for her child. Whatever that means.

With a great sigh, Eli leans forward on the table. For the first time, Ziva sees defeat in his eyes. The unexpected weakness gives her hope.

"You could not have chosen a Jewish man?" Eli finally says, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. His eyes sparkle; she knows she is forgiven. Her heart rises in her chest.

Ziva allows a small smile. "Our child will know his or her heritage. You can be sure of that."

"And summers in Haifa with his or her grandfather, yes?" Eli is grinning now. His posture has relaxed. He toys with Ziva's badge, placing the gun carefully aside.

Ziva laughs, a sound rather rusty with emotion. "We will see." She has a fleeting image of Tony, gloriously sun-kissed, and an olive-skinned, dark-haired toddler splashing in the surf and playing in the sand on the beach of her childhood. _Am I allowed to hope for that now? _Her heart rate picks up and she has the sudden, desperate urge to find Tony.

Eli's face turns serious again. "This does not mean I am happy about the Catholic."

Ziva just rolls her eyes. "Oh, Papa…" She's not exactly anticipating Tony and her father becoming fast friends. In fact, the very idea makes her stomach twist. It's best to keep her worlds separate, for her own sanity.

Studying his daughter, Eli leans forward. He seems to consider his next words and Ziva knows that, whatever they are, they are very important to him. She holds her breath. Finally, he looks at her with heavy eyes and asks, "Are you happy, my dear?"

Ziva doesn't hesitate before she smiles and answers, "Yes."

Eli nods. "Very well." He stands and motions for Ziva to do the same. Ziva does, and immediately bristles under her father's appraising eyes. He grins. "Yes, I can see it now. I thought your proportions had changed."

"Papa!" Ziva exclaims, eyes wide. She glances down at her body, thinking she somehow sprouted a third leg without knowing it.

Eli laughs. "It's true. Just like your mother's figure did." He gestures to Ziva's backside. "She was quite happy about that." The little shake Eli does for emphasis makes Ziva chuckle. It's not often she sees her father show his lighter side. It is something they lost long ago, as life whittled away at the David family.

A sudden wetness springs to Ziva's eyes as she takes in her father. For all the times he's let her down, and all the things he's done wrong, it doesn't change the fact that he is her father and she loves him.

"I hope you can be happy for me, Papa," she says, the words a mere whisper. Eli's smile fades from his lips as he meets her gaze, but not from his eyes.

"Of course, my child," he says and pulls her into his arms. "I will get over the loss of one of my best agents, I suppose. But now I have much to look forward to, yes?"

Ziva nods into her father's chest, inhaling his scent so familiar and yet almost forgotten. He kisses the top of her head. "Yes, Papa. We have much to look forward to."

* * *

**Well, what did you think? I hope I did the Davids justice there. I went for a happier relationship than we see on the show, because I like things a little happier in my world. I was going to sit on this for editing a little longer, but I seriously can't make it through the last part without crying because daddy/daughter stuff just slays me. So I had to let it go or my keyboard was going to suffer. The Hotel Arts is a real hotel in Barcelona (yeah, I googled) and looks freaking gorgeous so be jealous of our characters here. ;) I hope to have the next part up before two weeks (what happened to the time!) so stay tuned. We will find out what happened with Tony and Gibbs, Ziva continues to deal with life....and then, as always, Tiva happens. Stick with me! We're getting to the end! :-)**


	19. Barcelona, Part VI

**FINALLY! I know. To say this chapter was a beast to write is putting it mildly. If it helps, I was working on this the whole two (EEEK) weeks that I've been away. As usual, I had to post before I drove myself crazy with the editing/tweaking. Yeesh. Where is the summer going? Thanks again to all of you loyal reviewers, you keep me going! It's such a warm, fuzzy feeling to know that someone else out in the world is enjoying what I wrote just for my own entertainment. You rock! ENJOY!**

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(19)

Barcelona, Part VI

_Barcelona—The next day_

Finally, after the third hospital, they find her. Tony gets a call back from Agent Griffin, who was able to use a more efficient method of patient locating than driving to individual emergency rooms, directing them to the hospital at which Ziva was registered.

"You watch out for her, Tony," Shelley orders, a hint of a smile coming over the line. "I get the impression Ziva attracts trouble like honey attracts bears."

"Uh, yeah," Tony gives the phone a confused look. He grabs for the dashboard of their car as Gibbs careens through a traffic circle. "Something like that."

"I mean it, DiNozzo!" He hears Shelley slam what he presumes is her desk for emphasis.

"Got it, Griffin," he chuckles. "But maybe this is a chat you two should have? Ziva doesn't exactly like being watched over."

"She doesn't like chatting much either," Shelley snorts. "I wish you two crazy kids lots of luck, okay? Don't be strangers. And if that sexy boss of yours asks, I'm single and flexible."

Tony wants to smile but the sight of tiny European cars being run aground by Gibbs' aggressive driving only allows him to grimace. "Noted, Griffin. Thanks for everything." They say a quick goodbye as Gibbs makes an illegal turn into the hospital's driveway.

"Go find your partner, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbles, barely waiting for Tony to exit the car before zooming off again. Frowning at the taillights of the vehicle, he hopes the bossman just went in search of proper parking.

Tony spots a familiar medic taking a smoke break outside the hospital. Sidling up to the man, he engages him in a casual conversation that confirms they brought Ziva to the hospital. Tony can barely keep his cool as he shakes hands with the guy and goes on his way. As soon as he's out of the medic's sightline, he's full on sprinting through the emergency room.

"Excuse me," he asks the first nurse he sees in his best Spanish. "I'm looking for Officer Ziva David? She's my partner. She was brought in over an hour ago." He flashes his badge and most charming smile at the nurse manning the front desk. She looks less than impressed.

Before the nurse can respond, two Israeli men, rather unassuming-looking for the trained killers they likely are, walk up to him.

"Officer David is not permitted visitors right now," the more rodent-like of the two men says to Tony. Tony pulls himself up to his full height, happy to note he has a good two inches on both men. The nurse sneaks off.

"She'll want to see me," he responds, oozing confidence he only hopes is not unfounded. He tries to peek down the hallway to where the men came from, but can't tell which room is Ziva's.

"Director David's orders," the weasel-faced man sneers, stepping into Tony's personal space. Tony doesn't back down. The second officer just maintains his silence several feet away. His eyes dart around the waiting room, analyzing and anticipating. It's an intensity with which Tony is familiar.

"Good thing I don't take orders from Director David then," Tony grins cheekily, trying to put the officer off-guard as he attempts to step around him. Officer Weasel blocks his path. The Mossad spy may be relatively scrawny, but Tony realizes quickly that he's all muscle. Tony lets out an "oomph" as his chest makes contact with the assassin's shoulder.

"Agent DiNozzo," Officer Ferret-face warns, pushing Tony back. Tony watches as the Silent One places a threatening hand on his sidearm. "Kindly wait until Officer David has been cleared for visitors."

Tony laughs at the absurd statement. _Who is this guy to keep me from seeing my partner, the woman who is currently incubating the future of the DiNozzo line?_ If he can just get to Ziva, he knows that she'll chew out these brownnosers and allow him to see her. He pushes past the rodent-man one more time, earning a string of Hebrew from the previously silent officer. Glancing up, he sees the man reaching for a weapon and reacts by moving clear of both officers. After the events of today, and knowing Ziva as well as he does, he's learned it best not to test the murderous impulses of Mossad.

"We will wait until Officer David is done briefing your control officer and then we're going in," Gibbs says from behind Tony in that special tone that always seems to bend uncooperative types to his will. And though the Mossad officers aren't easily intimidated, it seems to work. Sort of. They move back to their guard post at one of the closed doors in the hospital corridor, throwing only matching icy glares in their direction as opposed to knives.

Tony does his best Clint Eastwood sneer in return and allows Gibbs to direct him to a waiting room chair.

"Frickin' Mossad," Tony mutters under his breath as he's pushed down into the plastic seat. Gibbs smacks the back of his head with a four-month old issue of a Spanish tabloid. But he doesn't bother to hide his smirk.

* * *

After finally checking into her own hotel room, Ziva takes a moment to breathe.

_It's all over now. _

It's something she needs to remind herself. She feels strangely free. For the first time in months, the weight on her shoulders has lessened. She no longer feels the gnawing despair that seemed to cling to her ever since they found Jenny's body in L.A. and she was reassigned to Mossad.

There is no mission to think about, no madman hunting her down, and she's been reunited with the man she loves. She can just _be_.

Smiling to herself, Ziva makes her way through the small suite her father had reserved for her. She's happy to note that someone thought to stock the room with what looks like her own belongings, undoubtedly retrieved from the room in Greece that she abandoned not so long ago. She lets out a blissful sigh when she discovers the bathroom-- a beautiful room with a spacious shower, fluffy towels on a warmer, and an arsenal of bath products. Ziva begins to shed her clothing immediately in anticipation of her first decent shower in two weeks.

As she washes her body under the warm spray, Ziva's mind begins to wander. And as it wanders, a new form of panic takes over.

_You're free. Now what?_

Because she's just realized what she's done: she's not a Mossad officer any more.

She's spent practically her entire life being Mossad. And now she's just given that up.

Ziva rests her forehead against the cool tile of the shower.

_Now what?_

Who is she now? What will she be now?

_I'm not an assassin. I'm an investigator. _

At NCIS, she finally found a role that fit. She was bred to be a killer; joining Mossad was a proud day for her, for her father, and there was never a doubt that she was a strong asset to the organization. But she was never happy. She was not _supposed_ to be happy. Then NCIS helped awaken a part of her soul that had long gone dormant. The work at NCIS, and especially the people there, taught her that there could be more to life than secrets and lies and vengeance and death. At Mossad she was firmly rooted in the past. She was motivated by the history of her people, by the blood spilled in her own family, and there was no future other than what she could secure for her nation. Her time at NCIS taught her that it wasn't always healthy dwelling on the past and that looking forward to one's future, be it the next week or the next year, could be oddly thrilling for someone to whom death was a daily reality.

But…how will she go back to NCIS? A sick feeling comes over her. She is not an American citizen. She is Israeli. She cannot just join up with a federal agency in the United States. Her father's knowing look crosses her mind's eye; did he realize this was the fate she resigned herself to?

Surely there is a way. She will find a way. She has contacts, friends, that will vouch for her. She is not above using family connections. Because the bottom line is, she cannot go back to Mossad.

She is going to be a mother now.

It is a role unlike any other she's played in her life, and there have been many. But knowing that there is a little person growing in her body, a baby that is not only part her and part Tony but also parts of Tali, her mother, her father, and even Ari, fills her with a sense of purpose and strength far greater than any rush she's felt defending a life or imparting justice.

There is this _life_ inside her that has the potential to be anything, really. And whatever step she takes next, whatever choice she makes, will lay down a future path for her child. She owes it to him or her to go confidently into this next phase of her life. There is no time for regret.

She thinks of all the ways in which a child can be brought into the world and how even the ones lucky enough to be born into love rarely have it that easy. Surely her parents loved her, of that she has no doubt. But her father wanted a warrior like him and her mother wasn't strong enough to suggest otherwise. She thinks of Tony and the parents he so seldom speaks of. Surely they too loved the grinning boy he undoubtedly was. But they also loved their lives of luxury and excess and didn't seem to know how to accommodate a child within that.

The decisions to be made ahead are difficult; the implications of her choices are dizzying.

But even given that, she looks ahead with a sense of power and fortitude. She feels excited for the possibilities. She looks ahead and feels that maybe happiness and contentment are finally within her grasp. The fact that she's looking ahead at all is amazing.

Ziva turns off the shower and wraps her body in a warm, fluffy towel. Wiping some of the moisture from the mirror, Ziva finds her reflection and smiles. Now she just has to find Tony. They have a lot to talk about.

* * *

As an hour ticks slowly by, Tony keeps his eyes on the two officers guarding Ziva's room. Every five minutes or so, he starts to stand up, apparently determined to bulldoze his way past the two men with whatever force necessary. Every five minutes or so, Gibbs has to growl his name in warning and wait for Tony to settle back in his seat again.

"Give 'em a little more time, DiNozzo," Gibbs mutters when Tony makes his fifth attempt to charge the room.

"How much time do they need?" Tony spits, glaring at the officers. Both keep their eyes forward and clear of the NCIS agents in the waiting room. "And isn't it weird that there hasn't been a doctor or nurse by the room since we've been here? No one in or out?" He shreds and twists a magazine in his hands.

"It's an ER, Tony," Gibbs sighs. "She could be waiting hours." That could be true, but his gut is telling him something isn't quite right about this scenario. Still, their only option is to wait it out. That is, if they don't want to become patients themselves. He is quite sure the Mossad officers standing by have orders to take them out by force if necessary.

Tony makes a colorful remark about the state of Spanish health care in response. Gibbs grins. Frankly, he's amazed Tony has been able to keep himself so restrained. DiNozzo isn't exactly known for letting a cooler head prevail, especially when a friend is in need. Gibbs is happy to take this behavior as a sign of recent growth and maturity. That, or Tony is just very intimidated by the Israeli spies.

A few more minutes pass without any movement from Ziva's room. Gibbs leans back in his chair. He studies Tony for a moment. The man's eyes haven't wavered from the door to the room; his whole body is strung tight with tension. He curses Eli David and Mossad for drawing this process out. Tony and Ziva have been through enough these past 24 hours. Hell, they've been through enough these past few months. They don't need this additional stressor in their lives.

"Maybe she doesn't want to see me," Tony suddenly whispers. His words are barely audible in the quiet room.

Gibbs narrows his eyes at his senior agent. "DiNozzo," he sighs, clenching his hands. "Don't make me slap you." And though Gibbs knows without a doubt that Tony's fears are absurd, that there is no way Ziva is the one ordering Tony away, the ashen pallor of Tony's skin clues Gibbs to the fact that Tony may not be so confident. _So it's not enough that I have to pluck Tony out of the ocean and rescue Ziva from a mission gone wrong, I have to play relationship counselor too? There is not enough bourbon in the world._

"No, I'm serious," Tony continues. From the way he stares blankly into the distance, Gibbs can tell he's entered a dark place in his mind. "Maybe she's realized that she's better off without me. I can't really blame her for that. I am not exactly the poster boy for successful adult relationships. I'm bound to fuck this up eventually, right? Maybe she's just realized that and decided to head us off at the pass. She said she was still trying to figure out how she felt about this whole situation, certainly neither of us planned on it happening like this, and maybe she realized that this just isn't going to work."

Gibbs watches Tony critically and waits for him to take a breath. His voice seems to get higher with each sentence that he rambles out. Finally, Gibbs can take no more and smacks him upside the head as promised.

Tony gives a little yelp but, from the color that returns to his face, seems to have regained some of his senses. "Thanks, boss. I needed that. I think I am freaking out a little bit right now."

"Ya _think_?" Gibbs shakes his head. Tony takes a deep breath. And then another. Gibbs shoots him a warning look to stop lest he start hyperventilating. "Get over it, DiNozzo. Ziva's been through enough. She doesn't need to deal with your crap too."

Nodding, Tony rubs his face. Gibbs can see the recent string of sleepless nights etched across his skin. This is exactly why Rule 12 exists. You fall for your partner, and that's it. It's over. You're done. The team is a family and when one of them bleeds, they all hurt. That is as it should be. But the sort of heartache that Tony is experiencing right now takes loyalty to a whole other level. _I've been down that damn road before and look how that worked out._ Right now, Tony is dying a little bit with each second that ticks by where Ziva isn't safe and by his side. Gibbs knows how that feels all too well. He wants to believe there can be something other than pain and ruin at the end of the path they are on, but life has taught him otherwise. He did his best to warn them and, like the obstinate children they are, they went ahead and fell for each other anyway. Now he can only sit back and hope for the best. God knows both Tony and Ziva deserve it.

"I know, Gibbs," Tony mutters. He tosses his magazine aside and runs his fingers through his already mussed hair. "It's just…" He expels a breath, then looks up at Gibbs with the eyes of a boy, eager and hopeful. "She told you that she's pregnant."

"Yeah," Gibbs affirms, really wishing he had a cup of coffee to keep him occupied during this discussion. He fixes his gaze on the tile floor.

"Honestly, boss, what'd you think when you found out that I'm going to be a…a father?" Tony struggles to get the last word out. It's rare Gibbs sees this side of Tony, the Tony without his mask of bravado. He's ashamed to admit it, but sometimes he forgets that this is the real Tony. Sometimes he knows he pushes his senior agent too hard and asks too much of him. There's a delicate unbalance between what Tony will take and what he can handle. Gibbs isn't always sure he's crossed the line until he sees the shine of hurt in Tony's eyes. But, at the same time, Tony needs to be pushed to the brink and put off-kilter to see the big picture, to make the changes that need to be made.

Sometimes Gibbs resents that Tony trusts him so much.

Gibbs hesitates. "Honestly? That DiNozzo's gone and screwed it up again."

Tony's face falls. "Oh. Right."

"_No_!" Gibbs volleys back; his tone is harsh to get DiNozzo's attention. It's enough to shake him out of his dark place and back to the present. Gibbs steadies his voice and makes sure that Tony is looking him in the eye. He's not going to give this pep talk more than once. "Listen, Tony, there's never going to be a time when you'll be ready for it. There's never a time when you won't be scared to death that you'll mess it up. But that doesn't matter. What matters is now that it's here, what are you going to do?"

Panic rises in Tony's features. "But what if…"

"No what ifs," Gibbs says more sharply than is warranted. But, goddamn, if DiNozzo lets his issues get in the way of being there for Ziva and his kid, Gibbs will have no choice but to deliver the man kicking and screaming to Mossad's doorstep and let them sort it out. Lord knows at that point he will have tried all he can to knock some sense into DiNozzo. "Tell me, what was going through your mind when Yadin went for Ziva today?"

A dark look crosses Tony's face. "Nothing really. It was more of a blind rage. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch."

"Why?" Gibbs probes. He understands the sentiment all too well; he pushes back the images of Shannon and Kelly that bloom in his mind.

"_Why_?!" Tony huffs, getting agitated. "Because that bastard could've taken away everything that matters to me with one wrong move. That was my whole future, right there in his hands."

Gibbs allows himself a small grin as he watches Tony's brain catch up with his mouth. A newfound confidence begins to creep over his body, causing him to sit up straighter as he realizes the implication of his words. A wistful look creeps across the senior agent's face.

"Well, there's your answer then," Gibbs murmurs, looking away from Tony.

"I guess…" Tony says, not nearly so convinced.

"Don't over think this," Gibbs warns, knowing how easily your inner demons can mess with your gut. "Trust your instincts."

Tony laughs. "My instincts typically tell me to run screaming down the street."

"But now?"

Tony's eyes fix unwavering on Ziva's room. "Hold on for dear life."

"You've got that right, Anthony," Gibbs smirks and tilts his head. Standing up, he gives Tony a quick pat on the shoulder before heading off. "I need coffee."

He doesn't have to look back to know that Tony is smiling again.

* * *

Tony had finally given in to nature's call and abandoned his waiting room post for a scant five minutes. Gibbs had gone in search of more coffee and information. After spending a total of three hours waiting with no end in sight, Tony was ready to plow through the two assassins standing between him and Ziva.

Rounding the corner to the waiting room, his eyes automatically lift in the direction of Ziva's room. Only to find it guard-free.

He glances around the corridor and only sees hospital personnel. No sign of Mossad baddies. Breaking into a jog, he quickly closes the distance between himself and Ziva. He makes it to her room, not bothering to knock as he flings the door open and…

Finds the room empty.

"That _weasel_!" He shouts into the space. The hospital room is small with its two twin beds made up in that utilitarian way only hospitals seem to manage, crisp white sheets and scratchy blankets untouched. There is no sign that the room has been occupied recently. Darting back down the hallway, Tony looks wildly around for any sign of Ziva or the Mossad officers.

"What's going on, DiNozzo?" Gibbs hurries over. He manages to both jog and carry a full cup of coffee at the same time.

Tony is too frustrated to form words. He gestures at the unoccupied room. Understanding the implications, Gibbs' face turns steely.

"Let's go back to the hotel," he orders, turning on his heel and striding toward the exit.

"But, boss…"

"She was never here, DiNozzo," Gibbs barks. He chucks his full cup of coffee at a garbage can, sending a splash of hot, brown liquid into the air. Miraculously, it all seems to land back in the can. "Dammit!"

Tony picks up his pace to keep up with the older Marine. "Have I mentioned lately how much I hate Mossad?" He snarls as he increases the lengths of his strides. "Stupid spooks and their stupid mind games."

All Tony can think is that Ziva better be safe and sound back at the hotel or else his next stop is Eli David's front door.

* * *

Some of Tony's frustrations melt away when he sees the posh hotel that Eli David has set them up in. He whistles as Gibbs tosses his car keys to the valet.

"I can't imagine Director Vance signing off on this expense," he says as he takes in the hotel. Visions of feather-top mattresses, silky sheets, room service, and a state of the art entertainment center dance through his mind.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, DiNozzo," Gibbs tosses off as he moves toward the lobby. But Tony can see a twinkle in his eye that suggests even the generally unaffected Marine is not immune to the pull of luxury baths and the finest cotton sheets.

As they check in, Tony scans the lobby for any sign of Ziva or Mossad. A few patrons mill about the modern space but none seem to be eyeing the NCIS agents suspiciously. A random toddler breaks free of his mother's grasp and makes a beeline for an expensive gift store. Tony snickers as the kid tries to make off with a designer bag and has two security guards chasing him down as his mother scolds him in a foreign language.

"Agent DiNozzo?" The man at the front desk inquires, drawing Tony's attention. Tony raises his eyebrows at the man. "I have a message for you."

Tony exchanges a look with Gibbs, who just shrugs and pockets their room keys. Of course, Eli booked them a double room. Tony can only hope he's able to track down Ziva before he has to spend the night alone in a bed in the same room as his boss as opposed to snuggling up to his favorite assassin.

Opening the envelope, he breaks out into a smile when he recognizes the distinct scrawl on the enclosed note. The barely discernible chicken scratch is Ziva's handwriting.

_Tony-_

_Suite 2021. _

_-Ziva_

Love note it is not, but the key that slips out of the envelope gives him all the hint he needs. He smirks and waves the key in front of Gibbs' face. "Guess who got a _suite_? Ah, the sweet rewards of nepotism."

Gibbs just raises his eyebrow in response. Tony's mouth snaps closed when he realizes that his boss may not be cool with this blatant disregard of his rules. Of course, not two hours ago he was hitting the same man up for advice on becoming a father and embarking on a relationship with his partner, but even Gibbs has his strange limits.

"Er…if that's okay with you, boss?" Tony ventures as they step into an elevator. Gibbs punches the buttons for two separate floors, one for the room in which they were registered and another for Ziva's suite. Tony sighs in relief.

"You snore like an asthmatic bear, DiNozzo," Gibbs says, squinting at the yellow lights that tick off the floors as the elevator ascends. "If David puts up with that, that's her business."

Tony grins and opens his mouth to inform Gibbs that Ziva isn't exactly Sleeping Beauty herself, but before he can reply the elevator door dings open and Gibbs steps out.

"Don't screw this up!" Gibbs throws off the warning as the doors close again, leaving Tony slack-jawed and scratching his head.

"Well, yeah, I'm trying not to," he mutters to himself as the elevator makes its final ascent.

* * *

Ziva has found her favorite, most comfortable pajama pants and a tank top in her closet. Slipping into the familiar clothing feels better than it should, as does sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs in the room with a steaming mug of herbal tea. She relishes the sea view before her, her mind more concentrated on exploring the scenery than thinking any heavy thoughts.

She twists a damp strand of hair in her fingers and keeps one ear open for the sound of the door. She really hopes Tony checks in soon; she can't imagine to where her partner has gone off.

Finally, a few minutes later, she hears the door. With a smile, she places her mug on the coffee table and goes to greet Tony.

"Ziva!" He calls, entering into the suite. When his eyes light upon her, his entire body sags in relief. "Oh, thank God you're here."

Ziva's smile fades in confusion. "Of course. Where else would I be?"

Tony rolls his eyes and drops his bag on the floor. He kicks off his shoes, letting them fall where they may and ignoring her disapproving stare. "Oh, I don't know. At the hospital where Gibbs and I waited for three frickin' hours as Officers Weasel-face and Silent-but-Deadly stood by and mocked us?"

Reading the frustration in Tony's face, the pieces fall together rather quickly. "A decoy team?" She frowns, wondering why her father went to such lengths to keep Tony and Gibbs from visiting her at the hospital. Then again, he has always had a twisted sense of humor. Undoubtedly, it was his way of assuring she completed her mission debrief without any distractions.

Tony nods sharply. Then, meeting her eyes again, his demeanor softens. "You okay?"

She says nothing, but closes the distance between them. When she reaches Tony, she cups his face in her hands and rises on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. Tony sighs as she pulls away and wastes no time in enclosing her in his arms.

"I am fine, Tony," she speaks into his chest. She tries to push away, but Tony just clutches her tighter.

"I just need to do this for a second, okay?" His voice breaks just a little and there is no way she can deny his request. She relaxes into his embrace, allowing herself to enjoy being surrounded by him. Worried hands catalogue her existing injuries—the small bandage still on her head, the laceration on her neck, her sore ribs. Finally, Tony's delicate touch flutters across her stomach.

"The baby?" He asks, eyes solemn as he pulls back from her enough to read her expression. She gives him a soft smile in return.

"Fine. Healthy." Ziva laces her fingers through Tony's and pulls him in the direction of the couch. "Everything is on track."

"Good," Tony sighs in relief. "That's good."

He sinks to the couch in exhaustion. Ziva curls up by his side, resting her head on his shoulder. It's a new thing for her. She's never been much of a cuddler; she's never felt the need to be affectionate unless it was a means to an end. But with Tony, all she wants to do is touch him and feel him near. This isn't a new impulse. For years, she found herself drawn to his body. It just always felt natural, comfortable, to be in his space, leaning over him to read from a case file or taking a nap on his shoulder while on a stakeout. His smell, the warmth of his skin, and his overall demeanor are calming and alluring to her at the same time. And now that she has the freedom to bask in his presence, she will not waste it.

Together, they stare out the window to the Mediterranean Sea below. The blue water reflects the fiery sun as it begins its descent from the sky.

"I talked with my father," she finally breaks their comfortable silence.

Tony hesitates; she can feel his body tense. "Oh?"

"I resigned from Mossad," she says without preamble and the words hang heavy in the air.

Twisting toward her, Tony gapes at her. "You…_what_? Really?"

Ziva nods at him, swallowing back a fresh wave of panic.

"I thought…you said that no one resigns from Mossad," Tony studies her, a frown on his face. She flashes back to that morning nearly four months ago, when she reluctantly bid Tony goodbye for what she thought might be forever.

"I did, and that is still true, unless of course there are extenuating circumstances." Ziva flicks her gaze away from Tony, knotting nervous fingers into the smooth cotton of her pants. She hopes Tony will understand why she did what she did.

"Like a pregnancy," Tony says softly, grabbing her hand.

"Yes," she nods. "Or having your identity compromised."

"Or that," Tony smirks. He plays with her fingers for a few minutes. Ziva is unsure what to say next, what other questions Tony may have. So she waits silently. It's an awkward position for her.

Tony clears his throat. "Um, Ziva? Does you father know about DiNozzo Jr.?" Ziva says nothing, but lets her expression betray the answer. A comical look of fear crosses Tony's face. "Oh God. He's going to murder me, isn't he?" He scans the room suspiciously.

Ziva just raises her eyebrows at him. "I do not think so, Tony. He seemed happy at the prospect of a grandchild."

"So, he approves?" Tony's eyes light up hopefully.

Ziva makes a face and squeezes his hand. "Well…no." Tony's face falls. Ziva reaches up to kiss his cheek. "But that does not matter to me."

Taking her move as an invitation, Tony grins and leans into her. Sliding his fingers through her damp hair, he pulls her head towards him. He pauses just before their lips meet and the sparkle in his eyes causes her stomach to flip. She sits still, wanting him to come to her, but he seems content to tease her. His lips hover millimeters away from hers; she can taste his warm breath.

"Tony…" she murmurs, and it sounds a lot more like begging than she intended. Her eyes slide closed and she nuzzles him with her nose. Tony chuckles, the sound erupting from deep in his throat and making her shudder. She grips his wrists with her hands, but he doesn't close the distance between them yet.

When she's almost ready to give in to his game, his lips brush gently across hers. They pull away and tease her again, and again, until her whole body arches toward him craving more than the feather-light touch.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers and before she can process the unexpected compliment, Tony's mouth is on hers. He presses his lips to hers more firmly this time but with the same maddening staccato rhythm. She responds with a groan, parting her lips to encourage a more intimate contact. He accepts but kisses her slowly, taunting her with his controlled precision when all she wants to do is lose herself in him.

"Tease," she gasps when he pulls back. He laughs and tugs a curl of her hair. She swats him away.

"It's only teasing if you don't intend on following through," he taunts, his hand taking a suggestive journey across her thigh.

"Hmm," Ziva murmurs, tracing the shell of his ear with her finger. His eyes are a deep blue-green now, the color of the sea below, and increase her heart rate with the mere intensity of their gaze. This is not where she wanted this conversation to go, but she can hardly be expected to think when Tony's fingers dance ever closer to where she wants them most. _Damn him_, she thinks as she feels a tantalizing ache form low in her belly as he strokes her inner thigh.

"Later," Tony promises in a husky voice when he removes his hand abruptly. Ziva is left panting, frustrated, and not just a little ticked off that he managed to arouse her with such minimal effort. Reading her mood, Tony gives her hip a quick squeeze and adds, "We should probably talk more first, right?"

Resisting the urge to pout, Ziva settles for a scowl. "Yes, we have much to talk about." _Since when does Tony want to have a serious conversation?_

They both take a moment to collect their thoughts and let the heat in the air disperse. The wind must pick up outside as waves begin to roll more fiercely in the sea. Ziva watches a boat bobble on the water.

"If you've resigned from Mossad, you can't be a liaison officer with NCIS anymore," Tony eventually breaks the silence, voice small. Ziva feels herself tense.

"That position was terminated," Ziva argues, though she knows Tony wasn't meaning to challenge her. "There is no certainty that I would be assigned back to NCIS."

"But Gibbs was working on it…"

Ziva urges Tony to look her in the eyes. "Tony," she begins, imploring him to understand, "I _had_ to resign from Mossad. I have to move on with my life. Even if my liaison position was reinstated, it could be taken away at any time and I would be back at Mossad."

"I didn't realize you wanted out so badly," Tony frowns. He runs a soothing hand across her ankle.

Ziva studies him for a moment, watching the waning sunlight play across his face. It strikes her how far adrift they are in this conversation. They are in uncharted waters here and it's a scary place.

This is Tony, her partner, the man with whom she worked side by side for nearly three years. She knows that he favors his right side when grappling and tends to shoot a millimeter too high. She knows that he brings the ladies in Payroll bagels on Fridays so that they overlook his spotty expense reports. He uses his charm to put suspects at ease and humor to hide his true intelligence. He loves powdered donuts and burritos after midnight. She can determine his mood by the genres of the movies he casually mentions watching—action flicks mean he feels confident and secure, sci-fi indicates melancholy, and screwball romantic comedies tend to bring out his softer side. When he starts bringing up film noir, Ziva knows it's bad and makes a point to treat him to pizza and beer. She's held him as he cried for a fallen friend and bandaged up his bleeding wounds. She knows all these things about him and then some. She loves him more than she ever thought possible.

And yet, they've never spent a weekend together, just doing nothing. She doesn't know why he dislikes his father or how Gibbs recruited him to NCIS. She can't even say why he became a cop in the first place other than that the role seems to fit him like second skin. And the scariest part of all is that she doesn't know how to be with him without being his partner first and foremost.

And he doesn't know what led her to resigning her post at Mossad.

_Can we do this? There is so much between us we've yet to explore. Will we still work if we're not side-by-side every day? Does it matter? Is it fair to me, to him, to our child to change so much, so soon?_

The thing is, she can't imagine learning anything about Tony that would change her feelings for him.

She decides that she can offer at least one thing he doesn't know. She clears her throat, catching his attention.

"Growing up, I spent my summers in Haifa with my family. My father used to take me on walks. We would watch the sun set over the water and he would hold my hand. It was our special time together." She becomes lost in the memory of those warm nights. "He would tell me stories about our people, of the sacrifices they made, and how brave and noble they were to fight for Israel."

Glancing up at Tony, she takes his hand in hers. "Much like I imagine you grew up wanting to be a superhero or cowboy, I grew up thinking that the future of my country was in my hands. I wanted nothing more than to be one of those people in my father's stories, giving up everything to serve my country. You once asked me who recruited me to Mossad. Perhaps it was my father; perhaps he is to blame for steering me down this path. But it was always my choice and the day I was sworn in to Mossad was a proud moment. I love my country, my people, and it was an honor to preserve their future." She keeps her eyes level with Tony's as she utters the Hebrew phrase that was a favorite of her father's and, in fact, the motto of Mossad. She translates, "_For by wise guidance you can wage your war, and in abundance of counselors there is victory_. For so long, that was enough for me."

She squeezes Tony's hand as she blinks back the tears that threaten to spill. As so often is the case, she is stuck somewhere between her past and her future, burdened by the sense of duty that flows through her veins.

"I do not want to sacrifice any more, Tony," she chokes out, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks. _Dammit, do not cry! _

But when Tony murmurs, "c'mere" and draws her into his lap, she breaks down. She lets Tony hold her and stroke her hair as she cries silently into his shirt. The tears that fall are not of regret, but of mourning. _You are not that person anymore._

"It's okay," Tony whispers into her forehead, kissing her there. "We'll figure it out."

She can't help but laugh, though it sounds more like a sob, at the thought. _Ziva, what were you thinking? Where do you go from here?_

"Ziva, whatever we have to do, we'll work it out. If worse comes to worse, I will mortgage my desk at NCIS so I can support all of us. I'll deliver the morning paper. Or maybe that coffee shop across the street will hire you? I bet you could learn to make a killer latte. And if you can't get a visa, I will smuggle you into the country. Or have Abby crank out some fake papers; you know she would do that for you."

He's rambling nonsense at her, what he does best in stressful situations. Still, his words have the power to lift her mood. For some reason, she believes him. _We will figure this out._

"I have made your shirt all wet," Ziva sniffles, lifting her head. Tony brushes the hair out of her face, looks down at his shirt, and shrugs.

"No worries," he smirks. "I'll just take it off."

Ziva snorts and smacks the hand that moves to do just that. "Tony," she warns. Then, more seriously, she adds, "You do not have to do all those things for me."

For a moment Tony just looks at her. Then, he reaches up to touch her jaw. "Ziva," he says solemnly. "I don't have to, I know. But I want to. More than anything. I want to make us work."

Ziva smiles and grabs his hand in hers. "Me too."

A lovely smile stretches across Tony's lips. It helps to quell any lingering doubt she feels.

"So…Ziva?" Tony asks, wrapping his arm around her body and pulling her to rest against his tear-stained chest.

"Yes, Tony," she responds, molding her body to his.

"Mossad doesn't have one of those memory-eraser thingamajigs like in _Men in Black_, do they?" He idly strokes her arm.

Ziva gives him a strange look. "No, Tony, those are fictional. Why?"

"No reason," he replies, his hand venturing lower. Though Ziva can tell from his tone there definitely is a reason for his remark. She gives him a look and he caves. "It's just that, well, the fact that you can kill a person with office supplies and not leave a trace of evidence..?"

"That scares you, yes?" Ziva chuckles at the look of calculated innocence on his face.

"Well, _yeah_…" Tony says. His fingers find the edge of her tank top and sneak under it to caress her belly. "But also? It kind of turns me on."

Ziva snorts. "I know." Her own hands begin to wander. Tony grunts when she begins to undo his belt. "Believe me, my hairy butt, I _know_." Leveling her gaze with his, she licks her lips and watches desire flicker in his eyes. In one quick move, she swings a leg out from under her body and across his so that she is straddling his lap. Tony grins in approval. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leans to whisper in his ear, "Perhaps we have done enough talking for now?"

"You read my mind, super spy," Tony whispers before claiming her mouth with his own.

As she pins Tony down to the couch, her hands busy working at his clothes, she hears him say her name in the form of a question.

"Yes?" She asks, removing her mouth from his skin and lifting up to look at him. He pulls aside the hair that falls over her face to regard her. His eyes are vulnerable.

"Even if we're not _partners_ partners anymore, we're still in this together right? You want to be with me?" The insecurity in his face makes Ziva's heart melt. She wonders how, after everything, he can even think she feels otherwise. But, she supposes, this is so new to the both of them. _Maybe too much, too soon…but there is no turning back now. _

"Of course," she answers, sealing her response with a lingering kiss.

When she pulls back, Tony is grinning. "Good. So partners in life if not crime solving." He makes a face. "Okay, that sounds a little pretentious. Girlfriend? Lover? Special friend?"

Ziva makes a sour face.

Tony's eyes light up in amusement. "Baby mama?"

That earns Tony a thumb to a pressure point on his palm. He groans in pain.

"We are just…us," Ziva says once he's recovered and runs her hands through his hair. She rains kisses on his skin, "Us, _ahuvi_."

Tony scrunches his face at the Hebrew endearment. "No fair with the foreign language and, also, we can't exactly go around calling each other _us_. That's just weird. So, even if you don't like it, I'm just going to have to call you my girlfriend because what the heck else do I say when—

Ziva silences Tony with a finger to his lips. Stunned, he takes in her position straddling his body, taking control, and a look of pure bliss blooms on his face. Ziva grins wickedly. "You talk too much, _my love_."

Tony's smile is radiant. "Shutting up now," he murmurs, pulling her down to him. Before she meets his mouth, he manages out an endearment of his own, "_Amore mio_."

Understanding, she beams before she silences him with a kiss.

* * *

**Oh, the Tiva. They like to get frisky when I least expect it. Well, l would love to hear what you thought! Like I said, in my outline this was such a simple chapter but as I got to writing, I realized how not simple dealing with all the emotional pieces was. Hopefully that was satisfying to you all. I don't think the next (and final) three parts should be as bad, but who knows? I'm off to start writing now... :-)**


	20. Barcelona En route to Tel Aviv Tel Aviv

**Back with more! As always, thanks for your patience. I think I've reached the point where I've gotten myself down to a two week schedule for some reason. I keep trying to be faster, but I don't know... We're at the point where it's all just wrapping up...two more parts after this!! Thanks to all of those who read and reviewed. I try to respond to all of you, but if I missed you-- thanks for reviewing! (I know the site has been rather temperamental the past few days.) Quick time line note: I decided to keep time revolving around the "present day" being the day on which Tony/Ziva were reunited in Barcelona. The date stamps move forward from there (e.g. two days after that day, three days after that day). But you should be able to figure out this very linear time line without them though please let me know if it's too confusing. So, anyhoo, ENJOY! Excessive Tiva ahead!  
**

(20)

Barcelona - En route to Tel Aviv – Tel Aviv

_Barcelona, Two days later_

Ziva awakens to find the sun much higher in the sky than usual, but it wasn't the daylight blazing in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room that had stirred her slumber. It was something much sweeter: the sugary, buttery promise of maple syrup and pancakes wafting in her nose.

Raising her arms and pointing her toes, she stretches her body to alertness. She is not surprised to find the bed next to her empty. Who else would order pancakes (and bacon, she finds herself noting on additional inhalation) in Spain other than her, well, former partner and current…boyfriend?

"A-ha! You're awake! Finally!" The man in question takes a flying leap onto the bed. He is bright-eyed and freshly showered. She finds his perkiness too much for her newly awake self and grumbles in protest, burrowing back into the impossibly comfortable bed. Tony wastes no time in joining her. He rolls over to her side of the bed and pulls her blanket-wrapped body flush against his, whispering into her ear, "Wakey-wakey, my ninja!"

Ziva ignores him. She throws an arm out in protest when he lifts the pillow with which she's covered her eyes. Tony ducks the nearly deadly blow.

"Ziva?" Tony chuckles, a slight edge of nervousness to the sound. "This is a revelation. I assumed you were a morning person, all early-bird-ish and chipper, considering you're always awake at the crack of dawn."

"I _am_," Ziva protests, but still finds it impossible to give up the sensation of the luxury cotton against her skin. "I was just very tired. And I am very comfortable." She wiggles closer into Tony's embrace, inhaling the clean scent of him.

Tony murmurs his agreement and nestles his face into her neck. They both doze for a few minutes. Eventually, Ziva realizes that daylight is burning and there is no use lounging around in bed all day, as much as she'd like to do just that. With a sigh, she kicks the duvet away from her, letting the cool air of the room prickle her skin awake. Tony's eyes widen at the sight of her nude body and he grins appreciatively.

"Good morning," he sings, running a hand across her stomach. She can see him checking for any discernible difference in size. Ziva can't help but smile when he leans over to kiss her there before kissing her on the mouth.

"Ugh," Ziva frowns when he pulls away. "You taste like bacon." Though she hasn't kept kosher in years, she's never quite developed a taste for pork, especially Tony's preferred smoked and fried variety.

Tony smirks. "Breakfast of champions, Zee-va."

Ziva makes a face and rolls out of bed, ignoring Tony's look of disappointment. Hunting through a trail of discarded clothing, she finds a t-shirt of Tony's and slips it on. "How long have you been awake?" She asks, snapping in Tony's face when she finds his eyes glazed over.

Shaking his head, Tony brings himself back and clears his throat. "Oh, awhile…my body clock is all messed up now. I called Gibbs, watched a movie, and ordered breakfast."

Raising her eyebrows at his list, she glances at the clock and is surprised to note it's after 10, much later than she is accustomed to sleeping regardless of time shifts. "All that already?" She gives him an approving look.

"I am an efficient man," Tony boasts, puffing his chest out. Ziva ignores him and follows her nose to the food. Her stomach rumbles in approval at the spread before her.

"Wow, Tony," she grins, eyes darting over the table. He must have ordered half the room service menu. The small surface is nearly overflowing with pancakes, eggs, bacon, tea, orange juice, fruit, and other assorted items. Dropping into a chair, Ziva begins piling a plate full of food. Suddenly it feels like she hasn't had a proper meal in weeks, which is probably accurate. Her mouth starts to water when she happens upon a spinach, tomato, and feta omelet. "Very well done."

Tony smiles proudly as he makes himself a plate. Through a mouthful of potatoes, he mumbles something about a breakfast delivery and hands her an envelope.

"I already opened it," Tony admits, swallowing his food. "It's in Hebrew. Can't read it."

Ziva frowns, sparing Tony a sharp look for opening her mail, when she recognizes her father's handwriting on the hotel stationary. As she scans the note, a smile crosses her face. "Looks like we leave for Tel Aviv this evening. Tomorrow, we will catch transport to America from there."

"A little too much globe hopping for my taste," Tony says, giving the stink eye to an uncooperative carafe of syrup. "But at least that means we're finally going home."

Ziva places her father's note on the table. A smile breaks out on her face. "Yes," she agrees, "we are going home."

Hearing the tone of her voice, Tony puts down his fork for a moment and looks at her. The expression on his face is one she's rarely seen before: Tony looking utterly content and happy. It makes her stomach flip. "You know…if we don't have to leave for the airport until later, we have plenty of time to kill…"

Ziva's smile widens. "We do."

"Maybe we should take advantage? Do a little sight seeing?" Tony is grinning now; she can almost see his mind spinning.

"I have always wanted to explore Barcelona," Ziva agrees. It's true. For all the cities she's visited in the world, in very few did she get a chance to just be a tourist.

"Good!" Tony nods, going back to shoveling his food away. He winks at her. "It's a date!"

Ziva makes a face at the idea. "Our first _real_ date, Tony," she reminds him. _Isn't it odd? We've never even been on an official date? _She thinks of all the times they've made dinner for each other, watched movies together, or gone out for drinks after work. None of those were dates in the strictest sense of the word, but they weren't exactly on the same level as going to brunch with McGee or for a pedicure with Abby. _The friendships are the same, but I never spent hours contemplating ways to make McGee or Abby blush without the use of my hands._

"Hmm, and so you are right," he pretends to consider this notion. His eyes take a languid path up and down her body. "Well, at least I know I'm going to get lucky at the end of the date."

Narrowing her eyes at Tony, Ziva tosses a chunk of pineapple at him. He somehow manages to catch it in his mouth. "Do you really know, _mon petit lapin_?"

He makes a confused face at her French words, but quickly overcomes it by leaning over and stealing a kiss. He tastes like the tangy and sweet fruit she just threw at him. When he pulls back, a predatory grin is on his face. "I don't have to worry about getting lucky, sweetcheeks, because I've already hit the jackpot."

He winks at her; she nails him in the face with a sweet roll.

"You are such a syrup, Tony," she scolds, though she can't help the smile that tugs at her lips.

"_Sap_," he corrects. She feels his hand glide over her knee. His eyes level with hers, green and bright. "I can't help it. You inspire my inner cheeseball with your botched idioms and your deadly, yet delicious, weapons." He takes a huge bite of the sweet roll that landed near his plate.

Rolling her eyes, Ziva chooses to ignore the spray of crumbs that falls from his mouth. "What shall we do on our date?" She runs through her mental list of sights to see in Barcelona and, though there are many, she doesn't find herself favoring one excursion over the other.

"You just leave it to me," he smiles.

Ziva finds herself giddy at the prospect of a day of fun with Tony. It is perhaps just what she needs. From the excited gleam in his eyes, she can tell Tony feels the same. Patting his hand affectionately, she gets to work on her breakfast.

* * *

_En route to Tel Aviv, Two days later_

Gibbs takes a sip of steaming hot coffee, not bad considering the source, and watches his senior agent at work. If there's a grin threatening to take over his lips, it has everything to do with the surprisingly bold brew served on Eli David's private Mossad jet and nothing else. It definitely has nothing to do with Tony's ongoing monologue.

"Dustin Hoffman. _Marathon Man_. Directed by John Schlesinger in 1976. I wouldn't go to the dentist for years after I saw that," Tony laughs wickedly, flashing his pearly whites. "Is it safe now?" He imitates the famous Laurence Olivier line from the film. "But maybe that's a bit too cliché and expected. Horribly painful and sinister, but lacking in that certain shock value."

Ezra Katz and his sidekick, now identified as Amil Shafran, are currently bound by their hands and feet and seated facing Tony. Two Mossad officers, not the same ones who gave him and Tony the runaround at the hospital the previous day, are stationed on either side of the prisoners. A third Mossad agent, Officer Meir, is chatting with Eli David not a foot away from Tony. Gibbs leans back in his comfortable seat as he listens to Tony go on.

"Tarentino. _Reservoir Dogs_. Good ol' Mr. Blonde slicing and dicing and topping it all off with a dose of gasoline. That's no fun. For _you_. I think Officers Cloak and Dagger here would relish the opportunity to filet your faces." Tony's eyes flick menacingly between the two men who had at one time held his partner captive

_Former partner_, Gibbs mentally corrects. His own gaze finds Ziva, who's sleeping in a window seat near the back of the plane. Ziva informed him just before the plane took off this evening that she had resigned from Mossad. Just how in the hell she thinks she's going to get a job in NCIS, or at any American agency, is a mystery to him. But he has some pull. He knows that any intelligence operation is that much better for having someone with Ziva's knowledge on its staff. He will do his damndest to see Ziva settled in a job worthy of her skill and, most importantly, likely to keep her somewhat safe.

Especially since, for reasons passing understanding, she's decided to have a kid with the clown seated near him.

Tony's evil smile seems to widen as he goes on; a gleam in his eyes sprouting at the twin looks of fear on their suspects' faces. Gibbs doubts their English is fluent enough to grasp the nuances of Tony's imagery, but they seem to get the basic gist. Rolling his eyes, Gibbs leans back in his seat and scans through the newspaper he picked up at the airport.

"And who could forget _Casino Royale_? Say what you will about Daniel Craig's Bond, but could you imagine that pretty boy Bronson getting his balls whipped by a wet rope." Tony cackles. "I don't think so. Little known fact: the writers on the film got that diabolical idea from the ruthless, real-life super spies in Mossad."

Shafran turns a strange shade of green.

"You have an interesting concept of Mossad practice, Agent DiNozzo," Eli David says, bemused, as he takes a seat near Tony.

Tony's eyes don't waver from the prisoners. "I have worked with your daughter for the past several years, sir."

Gibbs can't hold back a chuckle at Tony's words. He shares a look with Eli, who seems to study Tony with an approving gleam in his eyes. Eli makes a high sign at Gibbs. Gibbs nods in return.

"DiNozzo, go check on Ziva," he orders, putting away his paper. Tony's head swings to where Ziva is sleeping, slight panic crossing his features. When he sees that she is still napping peacefully, he turns back to Gibbs in confusion.

"But…she's sleeping, Boss," he frowns. He glances at Shafran and Katz eagerly, more movie scenarios threatening to spill from his lips. Gibbs just gives Tony a look. Tony correctly reads his mind, "But I'll go check on her anyway."

Eli's eyes track Tony's progress toward the rear of the plane. He tosses off an order in Hebrew. Officer Meir barks something in response and gestures for his two men to remove Shafran and Katz. A few seconds later, the prisoners are secured in a section-offed area at the front of the plane.

Eli David turns to Gibbs, "Is Agent DiNozzo always so…talkative?"

"Only when he's conscious," Gibbs smirks. He watches Tony approach a sleeping Ziva. Tony sinks into the seat next to hers and lifts the armrest between them. He can see Tony's lips move near Ziva's ear and watches his former agent smile in response. She goes willingly into Tony's embrace, never once opening her eyes. Reclining his seat, Tony lets Ziva make herself comfortable against his chest. He strokes her hair as he stares out the window and into the clouds.

"And my daughter has not shot him yet?" Eli, too, is watching his agents. His expression is unreadable.

"It was touch and go for awhile there," Gibbs admits.

Eli smiles, his eyes still on Tony and Ziva. But Gibbs can read an uncertainty there. He can't say he blames the man. He has his own reservations about the pairing, but probably for different reasons.

"Tony is a good man, Director," Gibbs remarks. He takes a sip of his coffee. "They care about one another." And it's the truth. For all the reasons Tony and Ziva could struggle, Gibbs doesn't doubt that his agents truly care about one another. That much is evident in all their interactions.

"Anthony DiNozzo was disinherited from his father's fortune at the age of 12. He was nearly expelled from his preparatory school and barely graduated from university with an essentially useless degree in physical education. He went through three police departments within six years where his records reflect several incidences of insubordination. He spends all his money on expensive clothing and electronics. Until recently, he dated his way through a significant portion of the female population of D.C." Eli pauses, connecting his gaze with Gibbs'. "Shall I go on?"

"You've done your homework," is all Gibbs says in reply.

"He is the father of my grandchild," Eli spits out. Realizing he has raised his voice, he glances back at Tony and Ziva, who remain oblivious to the conversation.

"DiNozzo is a good man," Gibbs repeats, not particularly interested in saying more on the subject. Undoubtedly, Eli has files upon files of information on Tony's life. He could have a full psychological work up done based on that information and, most likely, it would be accurate. But papers and words can hardly contain the colorful personality of Anthony DiNozzo, or truly touch on the depth of his loyalty and compassion. "Your daughter knows him better than anyone. Trust her."

Eli looks affronted by his words, but Gibbs isn't bothered. The Director is quiet a long moment.

"You judge the way I raised my children, Agent Gibbs." he finally speaks, voice tinged with ice.

"Not my place," Gibbs responds.

"You are not like the others. You do not question me, thinking I might have had a good reason. You judge me." Eli remains very still. His eyes have taken on a dark intensity.

Gibbs just shrugs. It's not an inaccurate statement. Eli David could have all the good reasons in the world for raising Ziva and Ari as he did, but a father's job is to protect his children from harm and not send them seeking it out. Ziva and Ari never had much of a choice when it came to their professions.

Eli sighs. "There is no use dwelling on the past. I stand by my decisions. Let us hope they will do better." He jerks his head in Tony and Ziva's direction.

Gibbs notes that Ziva has stirred awake and is now whispering something to Tony. They are wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world around them. This is something he's seen happen many times over the years, but their new relationship allows them to be more open about it. He doesn't believe he's ever seen both agents look so content, so unguarded, as they talk quietly to each other.

"They will," Gibbs says and believes it.

* * *

Tony eases himself into the seat next to Ziva's, careful not to disturb her slumber. The last thing he needs is a fist to the nose. She's snoring softly, eyelids fluttering every few seconds. He takes a moment to watch her sleep. It's something he found himself surprised to enjoy. Asleep, Ziva loses her aura of danger and looks deceptively young and innocent. He always forgets that she's quite a bit younger than he is age-wise, though obviously mature beyond her years. _Beyond my grandmother's years_, he thinks to himself.

He watches her sleep and it nearly takes his breath away. He didn't know it was possible to care so much about one person. Ever since he allowed himself to acknowledge that what he feels for Ziva goes beyond the realm of friendship and lust to something much more deeper and meaningful, he is amazed at how that feeling continues to grow and evolve.

He smiles to himself as Ziva mumbles something in her sleep, a short growl sneaking out her lips. _Okay, so maybe she doesn't completely lose the whole badass vibe._

She startles a bit as he lifts the armrest that separates their seats.

"It's just me, Ziva," he murmurs in her ear. She stirs, talking nonsense. "C'mon, babe, scoot over. You can snuggle up to your favorite special agent."

"Gibbs?" Ziva mutters, though any irritation he has about her little joke is quickly dissolved when he sees the grin on her face. She doesn't open her eyes as she lets him shift her body so that she's resting on his chest. She makes contented noises as she settles herself against him.

"Ha," Tony snorts, winding his fingers through her tangled curls. "Like Gibbs would let anyone use him as a human pillow."

Ziva wraps her arms around his body and nuzzles his chest, still feigning sleep. _And, am I imagining it, or did she just sniff me?_ Tony does a quick armpit check to make sure that he won't scare Ziva out of his embrace with his body odor.

Tony takes a moment to appreciate that he gets to hold Ziva, that she's _letting_ him hold her, in full view of her father and Gibbs. And he's still breathing. _For now._ He pulls her closer. Stroking her hair, he eases her back into sleep as he watches the clouds roll by beneath the plane.

A few minutes later, she whispers something in Hebrew into his t-shirt and opens her eyes.

"Come again?" He teases, being sure to speak directly into her ear, tickling her with his breath. She squirms a little, but chuckles.

"I appreciate the offer, _ahuvi, _but perhaps now is not the time or place?" She tickles his side, causing him to jerk in his seat. Damn her for finding one of his few ticklish spots! He bites back a laugh.

"Oh, look at how cute you are, recognizing double entendres." He leans down to kiss the corner of her mouth and nuzzles his nose into her skin. Ziva makes an amused sound. While he's trying to be sweet, Ziva decides to go for naughty and runs her hand dangerously high up his thigh. Once Tony realizes her intended target, he yelps and swats her hand away.

"_Ziva_," he scolds, giving her a dark look. "I did not just survive over two months floating in a tin can, spending my days investigating petty theft and my nights worrying in a way that would make my Italian grandmother proud, only to be dismembered on the flight home by my girlfriend's father, who may or may not have already poisoned my crappy coffee for impregnating his beloved daughter."

Ziva seems to find his predicament entertaining, cackling in response in that slightly evil, yet undeniably sexy, way of hers. But she moves her hand to a more respectable place on his leg, so he can't really argue with her.

"My father did not poison your coffee. Your sandwich, maybe, but not your coffee," Ziva grins as she pats his cheek.

"Hmm," Tony replies, looking suspiciously around. His stomach turns.

Ziva ignores the fact that he may currently be bleeding to death internally and starts talking about their date earlier in the day. Tony smiles at the memory. Ziva is rambling on about the architecture of some church they saw on their stroll through the Barri Gotic area of Barcelona, but Tony can only remember how it felt to spend the sunny afternoon walking hand in hand with Ziva through the foreign city. He doesn't remember much about the plaques they stopped to read along the way or the gardens they explored. But, like a romantic montage in one of his movies, bits and snippets of the day run through his brain: Ziva's serene smile as she chatted with a vendor in a marketplace, the taste of an orange-flavored granizado on her lips when he ambushed her under the archway of some beautiful old building, the easy dialogue that flowed between them as they talked about everything and nothing as they traversed the streets.

Well, it's official. His brain has been completely obliterated. He's gone the way of some doofy romantic comedy lead. Nora Ephron will be calling him up for advice any day now. He will have to start taking guidance from the likes of McGee or Palmer lest the last shreds of his manhood completely shrivel up and die.

"Tony?" Ziva's voice brings him out of his thoughts. He winces, realizing he's totally tuned her out. "Have you been listening to me?"

The threat is clear in her voice. Tony wonders if she'll go easy on him if he admits the reason for his distraction was remembering their day together and how impossibly gorgeous she looked framed by the ocean vistas, backlit by the sun.

"Do you think we should get married?"

The words tumble out of his mouth before his brain has fully processed them. Because somehow marveling at the romance of their day, at the beauty of his girlfriend, led him to thinking _forever and ever until the day we die_ was the logical next step. As the words pinball in his ears, he finds himself gaping at the idiocy of his word vomit…and struck with a wave of panic at the implication of his question.

_Oh God. What did I just do?_

Ziva seems just as thrown off by his question. Her eyes go wide. Her mouth opens. She takes a long minute to study his face. Tony tries to school his features into a look of careful neutrality, waiting for Ziva to decide his fate.

_The woman is carrying your child, DiNozzo. And, beyond that, you love her like crazy. Admit it: you want to have more of those cheeseball days with her; you want to spend every night curled up to her warm body. After months apart, after nearly losing her forever, you know that the thought of going even one day without her threatening to maim you is worse than the prospect of Trent Kort being made Master of the Universe. _

_So…marriage is what comes next, right?_

Ziva purses her lips. "That was a very romantic proposal, Tony."

He feels his mouth drop open. Of course. That was the absolute worst proposal ever. Nora Ephron will never call him now. But, was he really proposing? Or…what. What was he thinking?

_Gibbs is going to murder me. And then Eli David will string my bloody corpse up for all of Tel Aviv to see and laugh at. But that's assuming Ziva doesn't slice and dice Tony Jr. first. _

"I just meant…" Tony's last-ditch attempt to save himself is a miserable failure. _What did you mean, DiNozzo?_

"Do you want to marry me?" Ziva asks in a measured voice. Her eyes, though swirling with intensity, betray nothing. Tony isn't quite sure how to answer her question.

"Uh…yes?" He finally answers, and it's not untrue. The vague idea of marrying Ziva one day makes him feel a little warm and gooey inside. The prospect of marching down the aisle tomorrow makes him feel like he's being slowly strangled.

Ziva just stares at him before letting out a great sigh. "Tony, we have been through a lot these past few weeks and have only been reunited for a few days. Let's not rush it."

A wave of relief washes over Tony. He gives Ziva a quick squeeze. "Agreed," he responds. His life has already changed in many drastic ways these last few days. The thought of piling more change on top of that is just…too much. "I didn't want you to think that I wouldn't, though, if that's what you wanted."

Ziva makes a face. "Because you knocked me over," she snaps, pushing away from him.

"No, because I knocked you _up_. If I'd knocked you over, I think I would be missing several vital organs by now."

Ziva snorts in agreement. She ignores his nonverbal request to return to his arms.

Tony fumbles for a way to articulate his feelings. _You'd think after all the talking we've been doing the past few days I would be getting better at it_. "I wasn't lying, Ziva…maybe I'm not fully ready for that step now, but I didn't think I was ready to be a father yet either and that's seem to have caught on pretty well. I just…I don't want you to think that you are alone in this."

Ziva inhales a short breath and, if Tony didn't know better, he would think she was stifling tears. Before he can check her face, though, she returns to his arms, burrowing into his chest again. He sighs in relief.

"You promised me we were in this together and I believe you," Ziva speaks into his shirt. Tony rubs her back. "We have time to figure this out, Tony."

He rests his cheek on her head and pulls her closer. "I want us to be a family, Ziva," he admits.

"We already are a family," Ziva says firmly. She twines her fingers with his. "You, me, Gibbs, Abby, McGee, Ducky…"

Tony is suddenly nostalgic for his teammates. His eyes find Gibbs in the cabin. His mentor is chatting with Eli David, face unreadable, but Tony would bet all the money in his checking account that it's a tense conversation.

"…even the Autopsy Gremlin?" Tony adds, enjoying Ziva's look of disdain. It isn't that Ziva dislikes Palmer, just that she rarely admits to liking him.

"Palmer, too, I suppose," she allows.

"If we got married, you wouldn't have to worry about getting a green card." A picture of their future together is developing in Tony's mind. He likes this idea of a family, _his_ family. He wants to make that picture come to life.

Ziva tenses in his arms. "Tony, if we ever decide to get married, it will not be because I am pregnant or because I need citizenship. It will be because it is the right step for _us_, in our relationship."

"Okay," Tony sighs. He doesn't quite understand why a marriage can't be all those things; it's certainly less scary to think about that way. But then again, maybe that's Ziva's whole point. "I'm just saying…it worked for Andie MacDowell and Gerard Depardieu in _Green Card_."

Ziva smirks. He sees recognition flash across her face. "And how many years have you been waiting to use that movie reference on me?"

Trying to act nonchalant, Tony replies, "Just thought of it in the shower this morning." _Please, Ziva, like I will ever admit to having a secret fantasy that we were forced to get married so you could stay in the country and we went on a honeymoon and had lots and lots of amazing sex just to prove that it wasn't a sham._

"Uh huh." Ziva shifts so that she can look him in the eyes. He grins at the mischief he sees sparkling in hers. "Try again."

He caves to her superior interrogation skills. "Or maybe when you brought me that espresso outside your hotel that first night in D.C.?" He sweeps his eyes over her body, comparing the woman in his arms to the one who had so deftly intimidated him that day. _How did I get so lucky?_ "I definitely had it ready to go by the time you tried to kill us both in that metal box."

Ziva chuckles. "I thought so."

Narrowing his eyes at her, he maneuvers her closer to him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, please, Tony," she tosses her hair, distracting him momentarily, "I had you from the moment I took off my head scarf in the bullpen that first day."

He frowns. "I knew that was a calculated move to seduce me!"

With a sharp laugh, Ziva starts placing soft kisses along his jaw. "I was not trying to seduce you. I was trying to throw you off balance."

"You made sexy eyes at me!"

Ziva bites back a giggle, "And you were so adorably flustered." She pinches his cheek, then soothes the bite of pain with her thumb. He swats her hand away, pretending to be annoyed with her. Ziva's face takes on a serious expression as she leans in closer. "You were honest with me, Tony. You did not have to be, but you were." She kisses him softly. "That is what made me fall for you."

He smiles at her, feeling his heart thump quickly in his chest. "Well, _that_ and my striking good looks and irresistible charm, I'm sure."

Ziva gives him a look. "If you say so."

Before he can act offended, she's kissing him again. Her hands rake through his hair, pulling his head down to hers. He responds eagerly to her touch. It's only been several hours since their last kiss and already he misses the sensation. He hasn't felt this way since junior high, when he spent the majority of his time out of class (and when he should've been in class) making out with Becky Shane behind the bleachers, and all the rest of his waking and sleeping hours craving the taste of her root beer flavored lip gloss. Of course, Becky Shane's slobbery kisses were child's play compared to Ziva's master seduction. He wonders if Mossad taught classes on how to drive a man insane? Because with every gentle swipe of her tongue against his or caress of her fingers on his skin, he sinks further under Ziva's spell.

He whimpers when Ziva swings one of her legs over his lap so that she's practically on top of him. She giggles into his mouth. To retaliate, he runs his fingers along her sensitive flesh just under the waistband of her cargo pants as he deepens their kiss. Ziva makes a happy noise.

"_Hey_! DiNozzo!"

At the sound of his boss' voice, Tony tries to wrest his mouth from Ziva's clutches. She doesn't back off, though, so he's left staring down Gibbs' angry face while Ziva holds his head in a vise grip uncomfortably close to hers. Tony is at least glad he doesn't have the range of motion to take in Eli David's reaction to his making out with Ziva in front of him. _Damn my ninja and her mind-melting powers of seduction!_

He clears his throat. "Yeah, boss?"

"Ya want to try sky-diving without the benefit of a parachute?"

Tony swallows. "Er, no, not really, boss."

Gibbs just lifts an eyebrow in response and Tony doesn't hesitate to shove Ziva off his lap and back into her own space. She looks less than pleased.

"How much longer is this flight, anyway?" Tony asks, shifting uncomfortably.

"Hmmph," is all Ziva says as she picks up a magazine and begins flipping through it. He can't determine if she's pissed at him or at being interrupted. But if the icy chill radiating from her skin is any indication, he's going to have to do some intense groveling if he expects a repeat performance.

When Tony hears Eli David's laughter echo through the cabin, he sinks lower into his seat. It disturbs him that no one answers his question.

* * *

_Tel Aviv, Three days later_

Shaking her hand to alleviate the stress of signing her name one hundred different times, Ziva wends her way through the maze of Mossad offices to where her father's office is located. She finds Tony in the waiting lounge there, grooming in a mirror as her father's newest secretary (looking, thankfully, very happy at her promotion) looks on with amusement.

"That is a two-way mirror, Tony," Ziva says, startling Tony. His quickly removes his hands from where they had been messing with his hair.

"Oh," he responds sheepishly, leaning into the surface and rapping on it a couple of times. "So it is. Who's watching back there?"

Ziva smiles at his antics. "Not my father, if that is what you are worried about."

Tony's expression informs her that is exactly what he was worried about. He goes back to the mirror and begins picking at non-existent food in his teeth, this time his actions a clear show for whoever has the unfortunate task of reviewing the security footage being taken.

"Worried? Ha," Tony laughs. "I do not _worry_, Zee-va. I have mild apprehension, slight misgivings, and vague uneasiness. But I never worry."

With a snort of laughter, Ziva wraps her arms around him from behind. He spares her a wary glance as he fixes the way his t-shirt falls over his belt before adjusting his gaze back to the mirror. "You worry like an Italian grandmother," she parrots his phrase from the day before. "Whatever that means."

Tony grimaces. "Do not."

She meets his eyes in the mirror, holding his attention. "I told you to go explore the city rather than roam around the office all day, waiting for me and making security nervous."

Tony quirks an eyebrow at her in the mirror. "What are you implying, _Former_ Officer David?"

For that remark, she tightens her grip around his waist until he grunts. She would like to remind him that there will never be anything _former_ about her Mossad training. "That you were too _uneasy_ to leave me here, yes?"

She watches his expression soften. His hand moves to rest over hers. He won't admit it to her verbally, but his actions are enough. He was worried about her, about Mossad somehow drawing her back in, if he left the building.

"I was more scared of what would happen to me if I left your protective custody," he smirks, leaning back into her slightly.

"I was stuck in a small room all morning! Signing papers and giving statements!"

Ziva lets her frustration at the bureaucratic process shine through. She had heard rumors about the extensive procedure required for agents to resign from Mossad and now understands the truth behind them. In the three hours she was stuck in that room, every aspect of her life and motivations became open for debate and scrutiny. She had to defend every choice she'd ever made. It was exhausting.

And, she's quite sure, due to her father's position, she got off rather easy.

"Yes, but I knew all I had to do was raise the bat signal and you would come to my rescue," he winks at her. She can see the confusion written across her own face in the mirror. He turns in her arms to regard her. "You okay?"

The tender look on his face makes any lingering annoyance recede to the background. She nods and rises up to kiss him quickly on the lips.

"Where is Gibbs?" She asks glancing around the small lounge.

Tony jerks his head in the direction of her father's office. "He's been in with your dad for the past hour or so."

Ziva frowns, wondering what business they could possibly have together. "Perhaps they are discussing a position for me at NCIS?" It's the only thing that makes sense.

With a shrug, Tony pulls her closer. He drops a kiss on her temple. "That, or plotting my death."

"You need to get over yourself, Tony," Ziva says with a roll of her eyes. Tony makes a petulant face at her in response. She makes one back before reaching up to kiss him again.

"You do realize that with one word from me every person in this office will become authorized to put a bullet in you, Agent DiNozzo."

Ziva pulls back from Tony with a sigh when she hears her father's voice. She doesn't need to look in his direction to know that he's smirking, enjoying tormenting the man she loves. Tony makes a pained noise and puts a foot of distance between them.

"Papa," Ziva warns, giving him her best David glare. "Leave Tony alone."

Eli laughs, a sound filled with little good humor, and offers his hand for Tony to shake. Tony forces a grin, but Ziva can tell he would rather be shaking hands with a crocodile. "We are just having some fun. Right, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs, who is standing behind Eli, gives Tony a look. "Right. Fun."

Tony looks uneasy. Ziva moves to his side to offer her silent support.

"The officers here will escort you to the airport," Eli gestures at the two men who seemingly appear out of nowhere. Ziva can't help but smirk at the orders her father gives them in Hebrew: _See that they make it on the plane safely. Your future depends on it._

Her father gives a curt good-bye to Gibbs and they share a look that Ziva can't quite decipher.

"Agent DiNozzo," Eli nods at her boyfriend.

Nodding back, Tony corrects, "Tony, please, Director David."

Eli just raises his eyebrows, though Ziva can tell he is pleased by Tony's advance. Of course, he makes no overture for such casual familiarity in return.

"Tony," Eli amends. "We will meet again shortly, I assume. For the wedding."

Tony's eyes bug out. He sputters for a moment under Eli's gaze. Before he can speak and make what will inevitably be a distasteful comment, Ziva spears Tony in the side with an elbow. She successfully takes the air out of his lungs, silencing him for a moment.

Tony recovers well. "Of course, sir," he manages out, smile painfully tight. Ziva bites back a grin. While she was being honest with Tony the previous night in that she does not wish to further complicate their lives by jumping into marriage any time soon, she cannot help but enjoy watching the commitment-phobe suffer a little.

She'll break the news about their decision when there's an ocean buffering the distance between Tony and her father.

Finally, her father turns to her. His eyes are warm, and Ziva experiences a sudden swell of emotion as she realizes the significance of her leaving.

"_Yakira_," he says, placing his hand on her cheek. Ziva drops her eyes out of habit; she's never been that comfortable receiving affection from this man. He speaks softly in a language only for her ears, "I wish you a safe journey. No more international incidences, please."

"Yes, Papa," she smiles. "I will try my best."

"Hmm," her father murmurs enigmatically. He hands her an envelope. "Here are your travel documents. Talk with Director Vance when you return. I believe we may have worked something out."

Ziva looks up in surprise. "What? How?"

Eli says nothing. He kisses her cheek and stands back.

"Papa," Ziva says quickly. Her mind races with possibilities and she isn't quite sure how she feels about any of them. "You did not have to—

"I know," Eli replies. He pushes the envelope back towards her. "It is just one option we discussed. You may choose another."

Ziva nods, glad her father isn't going to lock her into any one future path. That he's letting the choice be hers. "Thank you, Papa," she says, words heavy with meaning. She kisses him on the cheek.

Eli gives her an approving look before gesturing for the officers who will escort them out of Tel Aviv. "Shalom, Ziva. We will be in touch soon, yes?"

Ziva responds in the affirmative before turning to follow the group. She feels a strange mix of regret and hope as she walks down the halls of Mossad. She tries to commit every detail to memory: the smell of her father's office, the dull grey of the walls, and the constant hum of urgency that permeates the building. But these things hardly encompass her time with the agency; she has spent very few days inside this office. When she thinks about going on another mission, on more time spent spinning webs of lies and hunting danger, she remembers why she resigned.

Tony places his hand lightly on her back. She sighs.

Undoubtedly she will miss Mossad. She will miss the challenge and rush of adrenaline; she will miss the sense of pride in fulfilling her duty to her country.

She taps the envelope in her hand, curious about its contents. About what her future may hold. Tony shoots her a questioning look but says nothing. She winks in return.

Still, whatever comes next promises to offer her more than she ever dreamed she would have. It's impossible not to be excited about that.

Grabbing Tony's hand, she leads their group out of the building.

* * *

**Thoughts and feelings? Do share! ;-) Like I said, we have TWO more parts to go. If there's any issue hanging that you are just dying to see resolved and you're worried that it might not happen, feel free to drop me a line...I can give you an enigmatic answer as to whether or not it will pop up in the next chapters, or furiously add another scene to the story as I realize I dropped the ball. Hee. But, for reals, it's getting a little sad knowing this world is coming to an end soon... Though I am looking forward to working on other things (not that this has really stopped me, since I keep popping out random one-shots, but still...). A special thanks to all of those who take the time to tell me exactly what they liked/disliked about the chapters. You guys make my day brighter! :-)**


	21. DC

**I'm back! Here's the 2nd to last chapter... I hope you guys enjoy. Thanks for your continued patience as I wrap this up. It is both a great and sad thing. ;-) Special hugs and thanks to Ana for reading this over and providing super awesome feedback! Hee. ENJOY!**

(21)

Washington, D.C.

_Washington, D.C. – Five days later_

It's amazing how much her life has changed in a mere three weeks.

Ziva considers this as she makes dinner. In Tony's kitchen.

She finds herself smiling as she chops vegetables for their salad. The weight of the knife in her hands is comforting and familiar. The rhythm of swish-and-thump as she dices tomatoes and peppers is music to her ears.

Three weeks ago she was fighting for her life, a life that meant little more to her than orders and survival. She remembers how stark the grey world of Mossad was in comparison to the color she was used to living day in and day out at NCIS. When Jenny died, when Ziva's position was terminated, her life changed drastically. She just had no way of knowing how drastically.

The trajectory between then and now is steep; an unexpected progression that she traces back with confusion and wonder. _How did I get here? Who am I now? What happens next?_

These questions quiet as she concentrates on the tasks at hand. Wash. Slice. Stir. Toss. Sautee. The actions are simple, instinctive. She's always liked cooking for that very reason. It gives her control over chaos. It's an act of creation in the face of destruction.

The questions that remain hardly matter. She is confident the answers will come soon enough.

Sampling the marinara sauce that simmers on the stove, Ziva grins and imagines Tony's look of delight when he tastes his favorite dish. He had to report to NCIS today, his first day back. Since returning to D.C., Ziva hasn't done much more than sleep and unpack. Most of her possessions are still en route from Tel Aviv and she is thankful she never had the time to unpack them in the first place. Tony did not have time to sublet his apartment before being shipped out, so at least they have his place to stay for now.

Though the living situation is going to be yet another hurdle for them to overcome, for now Ziva is enjoying the close proximity to her former partner. Even if it means tripping over the shoes that Tony seems to leave at random intervals on the floor. After months of not seeing the big lug, she hasn't quite gotten tired of him yet.

Ziva had intended to go visit NCIS today but after a day spent reorganizing her life, a brief check in with her obstetrician downtown, and the start of the tedious process of job hunting, she found herself too exhausted to make the trek to Navy Yard. After setting up an appointment with Director Vance for the next day, she had decided to wait until then for her homecoming. She smiles at the thought of seeing her friends again.

"Ziva, I'm home!" Tony's voice, an imitation of Ricky Ricardo, rings through the apartment a moment after she hears his key in the door. She listens to the sound of Tony kicking off his shoes and dropping his gear as he follows his nose to the kitchen. "Something smells delicious!"

Ziva says nothing, just waits for him to appear in the doorway. It's worth it to see the look on his face as he appears in the kitchen, taking in the sight of her in his space. She gives him a sly look as his eyes appraise her. She knows he is appreciating her bare legs in nothing but the Ohio State t-shirt she snagged from his drawer.

"Do not get used to it," she scolds, waving a knife at him and his glazed-over eyes. She realizes this scene must look like some domestic fantasy and she wants to make it very clear to Tony that it won't be a regular occurrence. The threat only makes a smirk appear on his face and an instant later he is wrapped around her, breathing her in, as she goes back to chopping.

"Mmm," Tony murmurs as he dots kisses on her neck. "My woman barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen—I think I _could_ get used to this."

Ziva responds by slicing a red pepper with such force that a piece of it goes flying off the cutting board. Tony chuckles and eases the hemline of the t-shirt she is wearing up a few inches, fingertips skimming her thighs.

"Easy there, tiger," he winks at her when she pulls away with a glare and emphatic thrust of her knife. She watches him sample some of her marinara sauce and moan in pleasure. "You know I bow down to your superior knife skills."

Ziva rolls her eyes and goes back to chopping vegetables. "As you should, Tony."

He sticks his tongue out at her.

"Abby was very sad that you didn't make it in today," Tony says as he opens the fridge. "But I think she's secretly glad because now she can surprise you tomorrow. It may involve a cake of some sort, so come hungry. Woah! What's all this?"

"Vegetables, Tony," she responds as she puts the finishing touches on their salad. Tony makes a face as he scans the fridge before moving onto the cupboards with a frown. Ziva hides a smile. She spent a good chunk of the day at the grocery store. Tony's kitchen is now stocked full of healthy foods. "They're good for you."

Tony snorts his disbelief and pops open a beer he finds buried in the depths of the fridge. Ziva eyes the drink wistfully.

"It is important that we eat healthy, for the _baby_." Ziva gives Tony a significant look. He puts his bottle down on the counter with a sheepish grin.

"I don't see what's so _we_ about it," he mutters, at least having the good sense to begin setting the table before she can respond. Ziva waves her knife at him again. "Kidding. Just kidding," he amends with an overly bright smile. He sneaks a cucumber from the salad. "Mmm, delicious!"

A few minutes later, they are digging into her feast. Ziva grants herself a moment to enjoy this surprisingly mundane scene, dinner with Tony, remembering yet again the night that led them to this point. _We could've so easily never made it here._ Tony catches her staring at him and starts to speak with a mouth full of food. Catching her disgusted look, he shuts his mouth and continues eating.

"How is everyone at NCIS?" Ziva asks once Tony has slowed down his pace. His eyes light up at the question and he quickly swallows so he can answer.

"Same old, same old," he replies, the light in his face revealing his happiness at that finding. "Abby got a new tattoo. I'll let her surprise you with _where_. Probie is trying this new hairstyle that is such a total rip off of Leonardo DiCaprio in _Titanic _that I swear he took a photo straight out of _Bop_ magazine to his barber."

Ziva grins. "And Ducky?"

"Talked my ear off. Palmer, too. I think he's picking up a few too many of the good doctor's habits." Tony details more of his day to her and Ziva finds herself regretting not making the time to stop in. Tomorrow. She will see them all tomorrow.

"It's good to be back," Tony finishes, beaming. They both pause for a moment, considering how even though some things will soon go back to normal there are so many things that will not.

For one, there is no longer a place for her on Gibbs' team.

Ziva sighs when Tony's smile fades a little. She knows that he wishes she could just slip back into her place as liaison officer. As his partner. "I am meeting with Vance tomorrow."

Tony pushes some pasta around his plate. He doesn't meet her gaze. "Do you think you'll take it?"

Ziva hesitates. "I do not know."

"You'd still be at NCIS, at least occasionally," Tony hedges. He looks up at her. Ziva shifts in her chair.

"I would," she allows. Her father has arranged a position with the Israeli Foreign Ministry for her. She would work as a deputy security consultant through the Embassy, liaising specifically with the Navy and, thus, NCIS. The job would be a good fit for her, drawing on her knowledge of foreign affairs, intelligence, terrorism and the inter-workings of the Navy, and would keep a door open for her at NCIS when she is able to obtain citizenship. "I would miss the field work, though."

"You'd be on light duty, anyway," Tony says with a sigh. She knows he wants her to take the position. "At least I would get to see you sometimes."

She smiles at his pout, unable to resist teasing him. "You would not see me otherwise?"

Tony scrunches up his nose. "You know what I mean."

"I am still exploring my options," Ziva responds firmly. She places her silverware carefully on her empty plate. Tony gets the hint and begins clearing the table. She watches him for a moment and picks up on his annoyance. It irritates her, not in the least because she may not have been in this position if it weren't for her pregnancy.

No, that's not true. She was ready to sever her ties with Mossad before she found out about the baby. She started the process when she took the liaison position years ago; it was just time to finish it.

Tony clatters around in the kitchen for a few minutes, taking out his frustration on the dishwasher. Ziva concentrates on breathing. In and out. The sudden panic she feels surprises her.

She hears Tony approach her at the table, feels his eyes on her, and hears the heavy sigh that expels his irritation. She takes a deep breath, trying not to let her mood show. _You knew what you were getting into when you made your choices, Ziva. _

"Hey," he urges, kneeling next to her chair and putting a hand on her bare knee. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ziva mutters through clenched teeth and suddenly feels very silly for allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She concentrates her gaze on Tony's forehead, studying the furrows there.

Tony gives her a look that says he knows otherwise. He rubs her leg. "I'm just going to miss being able to look up from my desk and see you sitting across from me whenever I want. I'm going to miss watching you growl at suspects and fight with the plasma clicker. And I will definitely miss having a trained assassin on my six. I mean, who else will help me superglue things to McGee's desk?"

Ziva smiles at the memories. "I am sure you will find someone, Tony."

"It won't be the same," he says, and lifts her chin with his knuckle so that their eyes meet. Her breath catches in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. "But that doesn't mean I would change anything."

She studies the flecks of blue swirling in his eyes and believes him.

Patting his hand, she leans into him. The promise of his warmth draws her in, makes her realize how much she's missed him in the hours they've been apart. It is going to be tough not working alongside him sixteen hours of the day. Sure, she will probably be less likely to kill him for stealing her snacks or doing one of his silly imitations, but she has grown accustomed to his constant presence.

"I think we should skip dessert, yes?" Her gaze drops to his lips. She hears Tony swallow when she traces a finger along the same path.

The brilliant grin that eases across his face makes her stomach flip. She raises her eyebrows at him as she starts to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. In a move that surprises her, Tony manages to stand and scoop her into his arms before she can do more than yelp in protest.

"You've been working out, I see," she laughs as he carries her toward the bedroom. She pushes away from him, enjoying the resulting tensing of his muscles as he tries to keep her in his arms. Tony grunts in response. He tries to throw her off her game by whispering in her ear the fantasies that were running through his mind all day. Ziva touches him, light stroking, testing, teasing touches, wherever she can reach. She chuckles into his ear as he recites a particularly detailed daydream he had involving cornering her in MTAC. She always suspected Tony had a truly dirty mind.

He attempts to toss her onto his bed, but she maintains her grip on his neck and pulls him down on top of her. Tony makes a face when he realizes she's got him in a strong hold.

"Play nice, David," he teases before kissing her soundly.

"I always do," she smirks, her hand working at the rest of the buttons on his shirt. She nips his collarbone, inhaling the scent of his skin. "You know, Tony," she begins as she gives him enough space to wiggle out of his clothing. She bites back a laugh when he forgets to undo a cufflink and nearly rips the sleeve off his shirt trying to shed it. "Not seeing each other all day has its advantages."

"Oh yeah?" He says distractedly as he struggles with the zipper on his pants.

Ziva takes pity on him and begins to help. "Yes," she answers as she runs her fingernails across his furry stomach. His muscles clench and he ceases his clothing struggle to look at her. "It is as you wrote: absence makes the heart grow fonder."

His eyes darken at her words, as they both remember his email to her so many weeks ago, and she grins knowingly in response.

Tony kicks his pants to the floor. "I like the way you think, spy girl," he grins and pulls her body against his. Their eyes lock, their gazes more open than they typically allow. "In fact," Tony adds, eyes sparkling, "I _love_ the way you think, Ziva."

Ziva can't hold back a bark of laughter, a bubble of merriment that bursts from within, when she reads the humor on Tony's face. He's teasing her, but playfully so. Before she can respond to his words, though, he's kissing her again. The gentle dance of his fingers over her skin is at odds with the heat in his kiss, and she can't imagine anyone else ever being able to drive her this crazy, ignite such a fire low in her stomach.

Tony did always have a knack for getting under her skin.

* * *

_Washington, D.C., Six days later_

Tony leans back in his desk chair and stares up at the catwalk. Ziva has been in Vance's office for forty-five, no, make that forty-_six_ minutes.

He frowns and tries to see through the wall. No dice.

What the hell is taking so long?

With a sigh, he goes back to re-organizing his desk. After an hour of Vance griping about his lack of movement within NCIS, a traditionally transient organization, Tony was reassigned to Gibbs' team with Vance's "strong reservations." Vance was still weighing which inferior Gibblet to demote back to desk jockey status, but Tony can only hope it is the weird, drooling one who makes Probie look like Special Agent of the Year. Hedging that bet, Tony had insisted Langer take Keating's desk and had moved Keating to the annex desk. All in all, it was not a bad first day back.

But that was yesterday. Today he has nothing better to do than restore the perfect order of his desk, with every file folder in its logical, if not alphabetical, place. His eyes flick up to the empty desk across from him. He can't help the wave of disappointment that washes over him when he sees who is not there.

For so long, that was Kate's desk. He would glance up from his computer game to find a smirk on her face as she teased him, or that look of righteous indignation she gave so often. He remembers marveling that her make-up managed to stay perfectly in place as the hours wore on and how she inevitably kicked off her shoes under her desk, wiggling her painted toes where she thought no one would notice. After a long night spent doing paperwork, it never failed to lift his spirits to make her blush or to send her off on a rant about something or other with one well-chosen remark. Kate had a habit of rapping her nails on her desk that drove him crazy, but he counted on her solidarity when the coffee shop gave Gibbs a burnt cup of brew and loved that she always seemed to know when he needed a pep talk.

She was a good agent, a better partner, and a great friend.

And then she died.

When Ziva took over that desk, things looked the same to any casual observer. Ziva was yet another pretty, young agent who liked her work space tidy and sat up straight in her chair. But there were differences, too. Ziva didn't glare when she thought she was being slighted because of her sex; she smiled her crocodile smile and snapped at the first hint of blood. She favored tight pants and odd headgear over suits and heels. And then there was that whole trained assassin thing.

At first he resented Ziva's presence in Kate's space, but those irrational feelings subsided as more disturbing emotions began to emerge. Like the thrill of electricity he felt when he'd look up to catch Ziva's dark eyes studying him, dissecting him. Or the trust he instinctively gave over to her long before she'd earned it. He quickly grew fascinated by the woman across the aisle from him. He noticed that when she began to slouch slightly in her chair and tap her temple that work was boring her and she would be easily amused by a prank. He discovered that when a certain crease formed on her forehead she had hit a lead, and that when she was feeling particularly flirtatious she would let down her hair only when she was certain he was paying attention. He's learned all these things and more, and still hasn't gotten bored of studying her from across the way.

The empty desk is a bit unsettling. He doesn't like the idea of looking up to see Lee staring at him with her eager eyes He doesn't like that he has to get used to someone who is not Kate and not Ziva. He doubts Lee would engage him in a paper football game or protest his paperwork beat boxing with nothing more than a one-eyed glare. An empty desk means that Kate is gone and will never return, and that Ziva is gone and he has to worry if she will ever return, and it's all just very stressful. Kate and Ziva mean two very different things to him, but he will never forget Kate, and sure as hell will never forget Ziva, and he isn't sure there is room in his heart for anyone else.

But forget the desk. Ziva has become such an integral part of Team Gibbs that it's painful to imagine the team without her.

Who else can they count on to disarm any bomb they encounter or take down the most belligerent of suspects with the mere flick of her wrist?

He was always so worried that if he gave into the desires he felt for Ziva, he would lose the best partner he's ever had. That he would irrevocably screw up the dynamics of the team with his relationship inadequacies. That worry was present long before he realized exactly how much he cared about Ziva. By the time he realized how significant she was to him, that maybe it was worth the risk to kiss her just once and mean it, the team was being torn apart and he was presented with both the freedom to pursue those feelings and the crushing prospect of never seeing her again. And so the inevitable happened.

Now he's staring down a hopefully long future with Ziva, but he's also faced with the reality of never working alongside of her again.

Ziva is no longer his partner. She is no longer a Mossad super spy. She can't legally carry a gun. Yet. (He's quite sure she will find some way to make this possible, no matter how many arms she needs to twist.)

He's relieved to find out that none of these things change his feelings for her.

Because she may no longer be NCIS or Mossad, but she can still scare the piss out of a probie with a single word. She will still mangle the English language, sometimes innocently and sometimes just to make him smile. She will always be able to make him dumb with desire with the barest shift of her gaze or break his heart with the downward flutter of those dark eyelashes that hide the vulnerable brown eyes behind them.

He was being honest when he said he wouldn't change a thing. He wouldn't. Because if giving up Ziva as his partner means that he gets to spend every night wrapped around her body, that he has the freedom to wind his fingers through her hair whenever he gets the urge, and that she will be there every day listening to his stories as he tries to make her laugh…well, he definitely comes out ahead in the deal.

Still, it's going to suck breaking in a new partner.

"Tell me that smirk is because you're thinking about doing page 57 with me over that desk," Ziva's voice suddenly purrs in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. Tony's mind zooms straight to that very thought, recalling her allusion to that issue of _GSM_ they both had her first day at NCIS. His grin widens. Even though that particular article is burned on his brain, he still saved that issue for posterity.

Not removing his eyes from the empty desk, where he now sees an explicit image of their naked bodies engaged in the specifics of page 57, Tony answers his former partner, "Well, I am now, sweetheart."

Ziva chuckles and spins his chair so that he's looking at her. Tony studies her. The stitches had been removed from her scalp wound that morning, leaving her with just an angry red line on her forehead and the matching one on her neck. Aside from that, though, she is her usual, beautiful self. He doesn't know her normal morning routine yet, but she took longer than he would've thought to straighten her hair, apply a little make-up, and put on some of the nicer clothing she brought back from Tel Aviv with her. He assumed it was because she wanted to make a good impression on Vance at their meeting. Whatever the reason, it is nice to see her all dressed up, looking refreshed and healthy.

Ziva is still grinning at him, that wolfish, predatory grin that never fails to make his bones shiver, as she moves in closer. He sits up in his chair and shifts his legs open, inviting her into that space. She slides closer to him. When she leans her head down to his, a veil of hair falls over her face; his body floods with heat in response. His hands move reflexively to her hips, fingers inching under the cotton of her shirt. Sometimes, she's too damned good at seducing him.

At least now he's allowed to touch.

"Forget page 57," Tony murmurs as she runs her hands over his shoulders, resting her forehead against his. "We are firmly in Bullpen Fantasy territory now. Pun definitely intended."

With a snicker, Ziva leans down to peck him on the lips. "And how does that one go, my love?" She cradles his cheek in one hand, twisting the hair at the base of his neck with the other. As far as he's concerned, they are in their own little world right now. That is always the problem with Ziva, remembering that the real world spins independently of the orbit she sends him into.

Whatever. Vance can take his badge and eat it. He has Ziva in his arms and he frankly can't be bothered with much else right now. He's spent too many days, hours, and years stopping himself from touching her in this very way, in this very space. Now that he has permission to do it, he sure as hell will.

Besides, there's got to be at least one upside to no longer being partners, right?

"Let me show you," Tony replies, throwing caution to the wind and abruptly rolling his chair forward a foot and sending Ziva toppling into his lap. Her laugh floats through the air. He secures her body to his, pausing only a brief second before closing the distance between their lips. He is surprised when Ziva responds to his kiss rather than pulling away. _Maybe Bullpen Fantasy isn't such a long shot after all…_

"Ah, so many things make sense now," a voice interrupts them.

Ziva pulls her mouth away from his, but doesn't bother to move from his lap. She shifts so she more or less sits on his knee, arm around his neck. It makes him grin when he realizes who their audience is. He keeps his arm firm around Ziva's waist.

"Agent Fibbie," Tony acknowledges derisively. Langer is wearing a particularly offensive blue suit today. Langer rolls his eyes at him, then shifts his gaze to Ziva.

"Officer David," he nods. "It is good to see you again."

Ziva gives him a tight smile. "Thank you, Agent Langer." Tony can see annoyance flash across her eyes and it makes him happy.

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"Well," Langer clears his throat and gestures toward his new desk. "Better get back to work. Didn't mean to interrupt your…whatever that was."

Tony frowns when Langer sits down at McGee's old desk. Ziva squeezes the nape of his neck affectionately. He turns to her, his irritation melting away at the spark in her eyes.

"He didn't mean to interrupt us," Tony says, putting on his most innocent face. Ziva's mouth quirks into a grin and, taking his hint, she gives him another quick kiss. It lacks the passion of what they were previously engaged in, but the fact that she's willing to kiss him at all in front of another agent, in the bullpen, makes him a very happy man. _That's my Ziva; doesn't give a donkey's butt what other people think of her._

"Ohhhh!" A sudden squeal interrupts them again. This time there is little doubt who caught them in the act. Before either he or Ziva can look up, though, Abby has jumped onto them both and sends his chair careening backward into the cubicle wall with the force of her enthusiasm. Tony grunts.

"Oh, you guys!" Abby's voice is somewhat muffled in what he thinks is Ziva's shoulder as she tries to wrap her arms around them both. He lets out a low moan at the amount of weight being pressed against his knee. He isn't sure who's shirt he's clutching to keep them all from sliding out of the chair.

"Hello, Abby," Ziva responds, somewhat winded. Tony frowns at that and tries to push both women off his lap so Ziva can get some air. Abby fixes him with a dirty look, but lets Ziva up. She immediately scoops the assassin into her arms again.

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva!" Abby is nearly crying now. "I missed you so much! I was so worried. _So worried_! And you were all over the news looking just awful, but of course you were able to escape and, oh my God, I thought we would never see you again. And then you…and Tony…. and now you're…and I told myself I wouldn't…"

Abby bursts into tears. Ziva eases out of the goth's arms, a panicked look on her face. Abby's rollercoaster of emotions is to be expected, but this was a particular steep descent.

"It is okay, Abby," she tries to soothe, awkwardly patting the scientist on her back. "Don't cry. I am here now."

McGee swoops in and pries Abby from Ziva's arms. Abby blows her nose on Tim's tie. He frowns. "I think she's just a little overwhelmed. There has been a lot of change lately. You know Abby doesn't do well with change. She said she wouldn't be convinced you were actually safe until she could hug you."

"Do not talk about me like I'm not here, Timmy," Abby scolds. "You know I'm just happy Team Gibbs is back and safe, even if we're still not _back _back. Even if the team won't ever be back like it was," her lower lip trembles with those last words and Tony's heart goes out to his friend. He broke the news to her yesterday about Ziva's resignation from Mossad. She seemed to take the news well at the time, mainly just happy they were all safe and in D.C, but clearly the idea had some time to sink in.

Abby lets out a great sigh. With one last swipe of her eyes, she gains control of her emotions. All tears cease as suddenly as they came. To Tony's surprise, her makeup remains intact. She must've invested in some waterproof mascara.

The storm gone, a sunshine smile erupts on Abby's face. He can practically see her searching for a silver lining to the situation. Her bright eyes dart between Tony and Ziva. Tony squirms, suddenly feeling like one of the specimens under her microscope. "And I knew you _it_! I knew you guys had a thing! It's about damn time you pulled your heads out of your respective behinds. And you both look so _happy_!"

McGee grimaces as he tries to blot Abby's tears out of his tie.

Tony feels an uncharacteristic heat bloom in his cheeks, and he isn't sure if it's because Abby clearly had their number or because of the soft smile on Ziva's face as she studies the carpet. He stands up from his chair and moves next to her. He bumps his shoulder into hers. Their eyes meet; they are both grinning. And that warm, fuzzy feeling he's been having quite a bit lately is back in full force.

"Okay, okay" Abby backs up a step, amusement playing on her face. 'That's about enough cuteness from you two. Any more and I might start running DNA tests to be sure you are who you say you are."

"Sounds like a good idea to me, Abs," Gibbs strides into the bullpen. He spares only a quick nod in Ziva's direction. "Make sure they aren't pod people or something."

McGee jumps to correct the Marine, "Actually, boss…"

"Don't care," Gibbs snipes. He grabs a folder from his desk and waves it at Langer. Apparently understanding this unspoken command, Langer jumps up to grab his gear. "Take Keating and Lee."

"Yes, sir," Langer nods. Before he leaves, he offers Ziva another well wish and Tony has to stop himself from physically removing the G-Man from the squad room.

"I've always disliked that guy," he mutters under his breath.

"Jealous, Tony?" Ziva sing songs, purposefully tracking Langer's departure with a saucy look. Tony makes a face at her.

"Ha! As if!" Tony rolls his eyes. Seeing that McGee and Abby are otherwise occupied, heads bent together and conspiring, he leans in close to Ziva to deliver the final blow, "Besides, you're having _my_ baby. Not Agent Brownnoser's." _Take that, NCIS wannabe!_

He stands up straight, feeling very smug. His smirk is short-lived, though, when he sees that Abby and McGee are currently looking between him and Ziva like they've sprouted tails and wings.

Abby is wearing a grin that would light up the Vegas strip.

"You told him!" She claps in delight, giving a little hop that sends all her chains rattling.

Apparently his voice wasn't as quiet as he'd intended. Tony sneaks a peak at Ziva, whose lips are pursed in a thin line. She shoots him a look that says Bullpen Fantasy is a no-go for the foreseeable future.

Then, something clicks in his brain.

Tony narrows his eyes at Ziva. "You told _her_?" He jerks his head in Abby's direction.

_Did everyone find out about my baby before I did?_

Ziva looks confused. "Of course not. How could I have…?"

"I'm afraid we violated your medical rights, my dear," Ducky says apologetically as he enters the bullpen. "In our efforts to locate you, we came across your hospital records."

"Oh," Ziva nods, not seeming at all bothered by this revelation. Tony ignores the look she throws at him, apparently still peeved by his little slip-up. "I understand," she says and the tension in her face eases. She accepts a warm hug from both Ducky and Palmer, who had trailed his mentor into the room.

"I suppose congratulations are in order, then?" Palmer shifts his gaze between Tony and Ziva. He adjusts his glasses and can't seem to decide whether or not to grin.

The serene smile that blooms on Ziva's lips makes Tony's heart speed up. He feels his own face respond in the same manner; his cheeks are starting to hurt from all the smiling.

"Yes, thank you, Jimmy." Ziva nods, eyes sparkling.

Glancing around the bullpen, Tony makes a mental calculation.

"Okay, that's it," Tony throws his hands up in the air. "I get to break the news to _someone_. I mean, this is a red-letter day! Anthony DiNozzo, international playboy, is settling down. There should be women in mourning!"

Ziva pats his cheek, a teasing pout on her face, "Tony, I think you give yourself a little too much credit. Those women are not mourning; they are celebrating their freedom."

"Ha," Tony makes a face at her. "Funny."

Ziva winks at him. "You can tell the waitress at the taqueria down the street. She is always making eyes at you."

With a frown, Tony thinks of the lovely Lorena. "But she gives me free guacamole."

"Not anymore," Ziva huffs.

Ducky chuckles and shakes his head. "Ah, young love."

Abby stands at attention and snaps her fingers. "McGee. Palmer. Party. Stat."

McGee and Palmer rush off to comply. Tony shares a look with Ziva; knowing Abby, this could mean anything from a single cupcake to a full mariachi band.

In the end, it turns out that Abby's surprise party is nothing more extravagant than a bouquet of colorful balloons and a homemade cake decorated with pirate ships and hearts. But the gesture is touching and Tony can see that Ziva's surprised by the fanfare, which makes him happy.

Abby connects her iPod to McGee's speakers and "Welcome Back" starts playing at a respectable volume. Abby sashays around the bullpen singing, even managing to give a reluctant Gibbs a twirl, before pulling Ducky in as her dance partner for a few measures. Tony applauds Abby's song selection and doesn't miss the opportunity to pull out his best Vinnie Barbarino impression, schooling Ziva and Palmer in the finer points of the Travolta hip swivel. McGee slices up the cake and by the time the song is over, they are all laughing and singing.

Tony watches Ziva for a moment as she chats with McGee. They are both grinning as she waves her arms wildly, making a point. She senses his gaze and looks up to catch his eye. Her smile widens and he knows they are thinking the same thing:

_It's good to be home._

*

"Special Agent Gibbs!"

Gibbs looks up from his bite of cake to see Vance at the railing of the catwalk. The Director jerks his head in the direction of his office.

"My office, now," Vance says in a tone that leaves little room for argument. "And tell your team to get back to work. Or have we caught all the criminals already?"

His team goes quiet, celebration over.

"Geez, our lunch break isn't even over yet," Abby pouts as she gathers up the balloons. Palmer cleans up the cake and offers to put the leftovers in the lounge, as both he and Ducky say their goodbyes to Ziva.

"Good party, Abs," Gibbs says softly to his favorite girl as she mopes by him. She offers her cheek up for a kiss, which he doesn't deny her. The smile he gets in return is worth the trip he's about to take into Vance's den.

"C'mon, Tim," Abby calls in a much happier tone, tugging at the balloons in her hand. "Let's go release these from the roof."

Abby and McGee say their goodbyes and head out. Gibbs considers what remains of his team: Tony. He sighs.

"I want you catching up on our open cases, DiNozzo," he orders as he grabs his coffee and heads for the stairs. "David, don't you have better things to do than distract my team?" His wink flusters Ziva and she fumbles for something to say.

He doesn't wait for her to respond, just takes the stairs two at a time to Vance's office. He walks in.

"Agent Gibbs," Vance nods from his desk. "How's DiNozzo working out for you?"

"Fine," Gibbs replies, studying the man. Trying to figure out the real reason he was summoned.

"Good." Vance leans back in his chair and places some folders to the side. "I spoke with Ms. David this morning."

Gibbs just raises an eyebrow.

"I think she will take the embassy position."

Thinking of the discussion he had with Vance and Eli David, Gibbs nods. He had hoped Ziva would. It is a good opportunity for her, and in her best interest from what he could tell. His gut seems to agree with it, at least.

"That why you called me up here?" Gibbs knows it isn't.

Vance chuckles. "It concerns your team. You've got DiNozzo back. And I'm reassigning Keating to Cybercrimes."

"Agent McGee?" Gibbs quirks an eyebrow at the Director. He wants both his men back.

With a put upon sigh that gives away too much, Vance stands. "I want answers about that mole."

"And you'll get them," Gibbs promises, still angry that Vance saw disbanding his team as the only way to accomplish such a mission. And neglected to tell him about said mission until recently.

"Agent McGee will be reassigned to your team starting Monday." Leon levels him with a significant look. Gibbs is not intimidated. Seeing that, a wry grin curves the Director's lips. "Too bad David thought it best to resign from Mossad."

If Vance thinks that dig will rattle him, shake the faith he has in his team members, he is sorely mistaken. "She had her reasons," Gibbs responds shortly, taking a sip of coffee. And it's true. Maybe he doesn't know or understand all of them. Maybe he wishes Ziva would've held onto her Mossad post just a little longer, had just a little more confidence in his ability to get her back and safe at NCIS. But something tells him Ziva's resignation was less about job satisfaction and more about making a statement. And he won't begrudge her that.

Besides, he trusts that he will get her back on his team eventually. After she pops out that DiNozzo spawn, hopefully.

"Are we done here, Leon?" Gibbs asks when it doesn't seem Vance has anything more to do than stare at him.

"For now, Agent Gibbs," Vance says coolly, showing him the door.

Gibbs tries to hide the roll of his eyes as he walks out. He doesn't try too hard.

_Dammit, Jen_, he thinks, _it's times like this when I really wish things would've gone differently. _

He pauses at the top of the stairs to take in the scene below. Tony, Ziva, and McGee have pulled their chairs together in a circle, reminiscent of one of DiNozzo's campfires. He can't hear what his team is talking about, but the grins and chuckles assure him it's nothing to do with work. He shakes his head, but allows himself a moment of reflection. Descending the stairs, he decides to give them a break and make a coffee run before interrupting.

He'll give them a few more minutes to pretend that things are just like they used to be.

* * *

**Thoughts? Feelings? Just want to gush about the hottness of MW? Do share! :-) **


	22. Italy DC Haifa DC

**Wow, that time flew by too fast! I admit, I got stuck here and maybe didn't want to let go of this baby… But here it is anyway! ENJOY! And, just a reminder, all date stamps are based on "present day" being when Tony and Ziva reunite in Barcelona, so keep that in mind. Regardless, you should be able to figure out where in time these pieces fit. More notes below! Onward!**

(22)

Italy – D.C. – Haifa – D.C.

_Italy – One year later_

"Sarah, you have a delivery!"

Sarah brightens as she shuffles up to the nurses' station. It's been a long shift and who doesn't like to get a special delivery?

"What's this?" She asks the receptionist who signed for the brown box awaiting her. The receptionist gives her a strange look in return. Sarah laughs. "It was more of a rhetorical question. I wasn't expecting anything."

Picking up the box, about the size of a shoebox, and giving it a shake, Sarah isn't any more clued in as to what awaits her. There is no return address on the box, but the shipping receipts indicate it came all the way from the States. She tries to remember where her father is traveling at these days.

A letter opener makes quick work of the packing tape and she tosses aside the shredded paper that fills the box. When she sees what's at the bottom, she smiles.

"Oh!' She exclaims, pulling the familiar hat out of the box. "Mat's hat!"

The receptionist raises her eyebrows. Sarah doesn't bother to explain, but she remembers the strange patient that she had over a year ago. Sophie…. no, _Ziva_ David, the Mossad officer who escaped her captors and wound up unconscious and pregnant in her hospital bed. Sarah's fingers trace over the well-worn stitching on the front of the hat—_San Marco Regiment_, it reads.

Sarah smiles. She places the cap gingerly on the counter. Returning to the box, she laughs when she finds another hat. This one is emblazoned with NCIS across the front. She racks her brain—Naval Criminal Investigative Services, she thinks. That must be where Ziva's man works.

"Mat will like this," she giggles to herself as she places it next to her other hat.

Finally, she pulls an envelope from the bottom of the box. Inside are a note and a picture. The note reads:

_Dear Sarah,_

_Thank you for your kindness. With your help, I survived._

_Enjoy the hat. _

_Ziva_

_P.S. Thank your father as well. Apparently he has become quite the pen pal with Thom E. Gemcity._

Sarah has to grin at the short note. She remembers her father gushing about his conversations with his favorite author.

Beneath the note is a snapshot, a family photo. When Sarah studies it, tears jump into her eyes. There is the woman she recognizes as Ziva, well, almost _doesn't _recognize because the woman in the photo looks much happier and healthier than she ever did when their paths crossed before. In her arms, Ziva cradles a chubby, dark-haired baby in a yellow sundress. The baby has wide brown eyes and a happy grin. She is clasping her hands and looking up in amusement at the man next to her, her father, and presumably the man Ziva talked of during her time in the hospital. Sarah studies the handsome man and his brilliant smile, a gift he clearly gave his daughter.

Sarah clutches her heart at the sheer romance of it all.

Stuffing her treasures back in the box, Sarah blinks back the moisture in her eyes and charges in the direction of the lounge. Just wait until her coworkers hear this story.

* * *

_D.C. – Six months later_

"C'mon, c'mon! Move it, grandpa!" Tony mutters as he dodges a slow-moving elderly couple in the parking garage. In his haste, he nearly topples over the old man and receives a gesture unbefitting someone so advanced in years in response.

"Federal agent!" He flashes his badge and a toothy grin, which fades as soon as he turns his head, and he takes off in a sprint towards the stairwell. "Important business!" He yells just before the stairwell door slams shut behind him.

_Get there, DiNozzo! Move your ass and get there!_

It's enough to get his legs pumping faster; he takes the stairs two at a time.

By the time he makes it into the hospital, he is gasping for breath. He keeps his badge out, waving it at anyone who dares to glance at him in the wrong way. He recalls the room number from Abby's text and finds himself sprinting up five more flights of stairs.

His lungs are on fire by the time he makes it to room 512, but that hardly matters. The door is open so all he has to do is cut the corner and skid inside.

"Am I too late? Did I miss it?" He huffs, bending to put his hands on his knees and inhale some much needed oxygen.

He glances up to catch the murderous eyes of his beloved Ziva. A sheen of sweat shines on her brow and she is pointing to her still very pregnant belly with a withering glare.

"Nope, guess not, fantastic," Tony pants out as he rushes to her side. He ignores her death stare in order to drop a kiss on her forehead, cupping her face in his hand. "How's it going, sweetcheeks?"

Ziva just grunts in response and jerks her face out of his hands. Tony winces, but takes a seat next to her bed anyway.

"Tony! You made it!"

Tony looks up in relief, glad that at least someone is acknowledging his presence. He beams at Abby, who enters the room decked out in what he is certain are not regulation scrubs. Not unless Bethesda is letting their staff wear scrubs decorated with skulls and crossbones these days.

"We were at a crime scene out in West Virginia when I got the message. I hauled ass to get here. I got pulled over twice!"

"And I hope you didn't abuse your badge to get out of those tickets, DiNozzo," Gibbs warns as he strides into the room, coffee in hand.

Tony's mouth drops open. "Unbelievable." When Tony got Ziva's first phone call that her water had broke, Gibbs had allowed him to take the car and head out immediately while he and McGee wrapped up the scene and drove the truck back. "How did you get here so fast?"

Gibbs just shrugs. "What's your status, Ziver?"

"I am glad someone cares enough to ask," Ziva grumbles.

"Hey!" Tony turns to regard his girlfriend and mother of his child. "I did ask!"

"You know, Tony," Abby interrupts with a raised hand. "I wouldn't really mess with a woman in labor. Especially a _Ziva_ in labor. She had a really big contraction a few minutes ago and threatened to kill you in a way that I didn't know was actually possible."

Tony raises his eyebrows, curious. "And how was that?"

"Do you really want to know, DiNozzo?" Gibbs makes a valid point as he takes a seat in a chair. Abby nods her agreement as she places a cup of ice chips on Ziva's tray and moves to fluff her pillows. Tony just watches this whole scene with confusion. _Is this really happening right now?_

Shifting his attention away from the two interlopers to the person he actually cares to know about, Tony finds Ziva closing her eyes. Her features are drawn taught; she is clearly in pain. Tony frowns.

"Contraction, Ziva?" He asks worriedly. The whole labor thing wasn't a step he gave much thought to prior to this moment. No, that isn't true. There was the time, in preparation for this big day, he made the mistake of studying some highly disturbing images in one of Ziva's books and decided to not think about it ever again. But now, seeing Ziva's face pale with pain, her and the baby hooked up to various machines, even reminding himself that this is a natural, expected, routine process is of little comfort. Ziva is hurting and that will never not hurt him.

"Good observation. You should be a detective," Ziva murmurs, though there is little sarcasm or energy in her tone. Tony laughs weakly at her joke, figuring it best to concede to her mood than risk getting in a tiff. He notices Ziva is gripping the blankets as a release and so he offers up his hand instead.

"Other hand!" Both Abby and Gibbs snap and he switches hands just in time. As soon as Ziva has his left hand in her grip, he's hollowing in pain.

"Yeee-ow! Woah there, ninja! I'm going to need that hand!"

Ziva squeezes harder and he shrinks back a bit at the glimmer he catches in her eye. Then, she's growling at him. "This is your fault, DiNozzo! This is your giant, Italian baby trying to claw her way out of a very small opening!"

Tony grimaces, only slightly offended. Baby DiNozzo is already tipping the scales, according to the doctor, which Tony attributes to the sandwich-lust that Ziva seemed to develop during her pregnancy. His little girl is already appreciating the finer things in life. But he won't shoulder all the blame for their rabble-rousing kid. "Hey, she's half Israeli assassin!"

Ziva narrows her gaze at him but before she can respond, exhales. Her grip on his hand loosens and Tony takes the moment to shake some feeling back into the appendage.

"That was a bad one, huh?" Abby says sympathetically. She signals wildly to Tony for a moment, and it takes a few seconds to realize she's gesturing at the ice chips. Getting the hint, Tony pushes the plastic cup toward Ziva.

"Yes," Ziva says tightly. She rubs her belly and breathes, completely ignoring the ice chips and everyone in the room. Tony studies her for a moment.

Then, something clicks in Tony's brain. He springs up from his chair and points at Abby and Gibbs.

"Abby, you'd better go call McGee. He's probably waiting for an update since he had to drop the truck back at the Navy Yard." Tony confirms this supposition with a nod from Gibbs. "But make the call out in the lobby."

Abby makes a face, but complies with a salute to Tony and kiss to Ziva's cheek. Gibbs doesn't move.

Tony shuffles his feet. "Uh, would you mind giving us a minute, boss?"

"Sure thing, DiNozzo," Gibbs acknowledges with a wink before leaving the room.

Tony lets out a sigh of relief.

"Finally! They would not leave me alone!" Ziva collapses on her pillows.

Turning to her, Tony smiles and slides back into the chair next to her bed. This time, when he takes her hand and kisses her, she responds with a grin.

"You were worried I wouldn't make it," he teases, brushing some hair from Ziva's face. "You were worried I wouldn't be here with a hand for you to maim."

Ziva leans into his touch. "I am glad you made it."

"Me, too," he says. He's already missed so much; he would never forgive himself if he missed this, too. They are silent a moment, just looking at one another. Trying to read the intensity in Ziva's eyes, Tony asks, "Are you scared?"

Ziva shakes her head. She squeezes his hand. A grin plays on her face. "No. Excited. Are you scared?"

"No," Tony shrugs, grinning back. Six months doesn't seem like a long enough time for his life to completely change. But it has. And he's never been happier. He kisses Ziva's hand. "We can do this, Ziva."

Ziva cocks her head at him, giving him a look. "Of course we can, Tony," she says and sits up straighter. "Now promise me you won't let Abby anywhere near this room with a video camera."

He laughs. "I'd like to see her try."

*

Hours later, Tony is sitting in the same hospital room, the lights turned low. Ziva is snoring softly on the bed. Her hair is a mess; her face screams exhaustion, even in slumber. And yet, she's never looked more beautiful to him.

"You are lucky, little girl," he whispers to the infant in his arms. She blinks slowly in response, fighting sleep. "Your mommy is the most wonderful woman in the world. If anyone ever messes with you, you know Daddy will gladly take them down. But they truly need to be scared of Mommy. Got that, peanut?"

Tony finds himself breathing tentatively, scared that one wrong move will upset the precious bundle in his arms and that's the last thing he'd ever want to do. His little girl is looking up at him, completely helpless with her big, dark eyes and wrinkly face, and any doubt in his mind that this was the right thing to do has fled completely.

_I think you've finally done something right, DiNozzo. _

Smiling, he watches his family sleep.

* * *

_Haifa, Four years later_

The sun beats down on Eli David as he watches waves lap over the shore, one wave, and then another. One crests, one breaks, up and down…. He keeps his gaze fixed on the water, on its dance across the shoreline, trying to lull himself into some sort of state of relaxation. His doctor recommended it. Apparently, constant awareness will help you ascend to the highest ranks of an intelligence organization but assume the same level of vigilance in retirement and suddenly you are at risk for heart disease.

Bored his eyes drift from the sea closer to shore. Two figures in his line of sight catch his attention. A cloud shifts, releasing a burst of sunlight. Eli grimaces and adjusts his beach umbrella accordingly. He returns his gaze to the girls up the beach.

He allows himself a smile.

The roar of the wind and waves prevents him from eavesdropping on the conversation being had, but the body language of its participants tells him it's of the upmost importance.

His daughter, the one he nearly let himself lose, has dragged her beach chair to the water's edge. Gentle waves roll in under her feet as she digs her toes into the wet sand. The breeze whips her long hair in her face but she doesn't seem to mind. Her face opens up to the warm sun as she smiles in contentment.

She is bent forward, addressing the little girl playing in the tide at her feet. Not just any little girl. _His_ little girl, his granddaughter, his princess and shining star—say what you will about him as parent, all the many mistakes he's made, but that darling child digging holes in the sand is worth it all.

Sadie is her name, though he only ever calls her by its Hebrew origin, Sarah. She is a bundle of energy; he doesn't remember Ziva or Tali or even Ari ever finding so much joy in blazing down the beach. But for now she sits in contemplation, considering the mounds of sand she is building. Her mother gives her simple directions that she tries to follow. The look of concentration on her face reminds him of Ziva, the one who was always learning, always aware of her environment. But the mischief in her eyes, the carefree lightness in the air about her, is all Tali. He sees shades of himself, too, and his departed wife, and others that are no longer with him.

The toothy grin that often explodes on Sadie's face is clearly inherited from her father, a fact that Eli tries to ignore.

Ziva turns from her daughter, letting her play without interruption, and scans the horizon. Eli follows her gaze, noticing the way Ziva's whole face seems to light up when she sets her sights on the man he has come to accept as his son-in-law.

Anthony DiNozzo wades up the beach, beaming as he shakes the water from his hair. By the time he makes his way out of the water and up the sand to his daughter and wife, he has made quite a mess of things. Eli can't help but smirk in amusement when Ziva scolds him for dripping on her. Sadie seems to find this amusing and erupts in laughter, little arms reaching up for her father. Eli watches as Tony plays the clown for Sadie, dancing and showering the girls in even more drops of ocean water. Sadie claps and giggles and then squeals with delight as Tony scoops her into his arms, rewarding her with tickles.

For all the reasons that Eli disapproves of Ziva's choice in a husband, he can never deny that Tony is a doting father. Tony never fails to find joy in the role, something Eli regrets rarely experiencing himself. How do you feel joy when your only focus is keeping your children safe? Keeping the future safe for their children?

The other reason Eli has come to grudgingly accept DiNozzo into his family is made apparent a second later. As Tony manages the squirming toddler in his arms, he glances down at his wife. At Eli's only remaining daughter. The affection, the love, on his face is plain. Ziva says something that makes Tony laugh and hoist Sadie closer to his body. Content, Sadie curls up against her father's chest. Tony ruffles the dark waves of hair on her head before leaning down to drop a kiss on Ziva's lips. Then, Tony kneels down next to Ziva's chair in the sand. Taking Sadie's small hand in his, he places them both on Ziva's pregnant belly. Ziva smiles and helps guide their hands to where his grandson is making his presence known.

With a serene smile, Eli leans back in his chair and watches the happy family interact. At least he got this. At least after all the death and suffering and bad decisions, there is this.

Well, he must've done something right.

* * *

_Washington, D.C. – 10 weeks ago_

The day is sunny and calm. A perfect spring day. The funeral was a mix of pomp and restraint, something Jenny would've liked.

Ziva stands still on the cemetery lawn as the crowd filters out. She folds her arms across her chest, fighting off a lingering chill that should not be present in the sunshine. A gentle breeze floats across her face, teasing her hair, and keeps Ziva focused on the present.

She lost a friend today and, in some ways, a member of her team and family. Ziva has lost many people along the way. The feeling isn't foreign to her. The tightness in her chest surprises her though, as well as the anticipation that prickles her skin. Something doesn't feel right, but she tries to shake that sensation off. What would feel right on a day like today?

Ziva watches Tony pay his last respects to his boss's boss. She takes in the hard lines of his body, drawn so taught by the stress of guilt and grief. She waits for him to approach her. They say nothing, don't even look at one another, but soon fall in step together as they walk towards their team's car. Every few feet she allows her path to falter so that their arms brush. The sharp, labored intake of his breath only adds to the weight pushing down on her, making it so intense that it takes all her willpower to keep from grabbing Tony's hand or pulling him into her arms if only to release the pressure. It is then she realizes that it isn't grief she feels, but some other emotion she cannot label at present if she wants to keep her distance.

She catches Tony's eyes, tries to offer him strength with her gaze, but finds her own breath catching in her throat at the storm she sees brewing in him.

The breeze picks up and her hair that isn't secured up gets in her face. Ziva bats it away as they walk on. The sky is blue, a brilliant, clear blue that would've made Jenny happy, and Tony is beside her and holding himself together for now. Things are not good, but Ziva has no reason to suspect they won't improve. No reason except the gnawing in her gut that she cannot deny no matter how much she'd like to do just that.

Then, suddenly, Tony grabs her hand. The gesture is so unexpected that it causes Ziva to stumble just a little. He laces his fingers through hers and the warm pressure of his skin lets her breath normally. Finally.

Ziva tries to catch Tony's eye, to determine the meaning behind the touch. But he still doesn't look at her. And she doesn't try to remove her hand.

They continue on their way. It is only when they are several yards from the car, closer to the watchful eyes of their teammates that their hands untangle. Ziva shivers at the loss of touch, at the loss of her connection to Tony. It cuts deeper than it should. Tony seems to sense her thoughts and offers her a wink of reassurance. But even that seems empty, hopeless.

Ziva sighs and gets in the car.

Why does she have the feeling that everything is about to change?

_Fin._

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**AN: Wow! I cannot believe this is finally, finally finished. I admit I toyed for a long awhile with what I wanted to include in this last chapter. It wasn't easy, but I am happy with the place we got to and I hope you are too! This is huge for me because it's definitely my longest story to date (close to 200 pages, wow!). I learned so much about myself as a writer and these characters. The journey this story took was nothing like I thought when I started out, but it was well worth it. I want to thank all of you who took the time to drop little notes and reviews along the way. It's lovely to get notices that people are adding this story to their favorites or alerts, but it's even lovelier to get a sense of how people are reacting to this story. Now that it's done, I would love to hear your thoughts…. it's been a long ride for us all, I'm sure! **

**Here's to what's shaping up to be a great 7****th**** season! I hope to see you again soon!**


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